


bears that weight alone

by dreabean



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Science Fiction, Currently a WIP, Don't worry no one stays dead, Drug Use, Fix-It, Long, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mohan's A+ Parenting, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Unrequited Love, happy ending I promise, kinkmeme fill, time loops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 86,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  </p><p>Ajay Ghale dies, and then he dies again. And again, and again, and again. Pagan is really very tired of living the same three months over and over again. </p><p>(And if anyone bothered to ask him, so is Ajay Ghale.)</p><p>**COMPLETED!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> I have three parts currently written with another three in progress with an epilogue. For the first six parts, the rating will be Gen-Teen, with some swearing and some sexual language but nothing explicit will happen until the epilogue. Game level violence  
> and gore, and some BAMF!Ajay.
> 
> This gets very, very AU very very quickly. Enjoy :D

PART ONE - PAGAN

 _mad man, blood on the alter, the queen will have his head_  
_his ghost will shake those rattling chains long after he's dead_  
_no soul knows he's trouble high upon his throne_  
_loved by few and judged by many he bears that weight alone_

Ishwari's ashes tumble to the dirt as Ajay stumbles, legs folding to his knees, hands clenched over the bullet wound in his chest. Sabal lowers the smoking gun, face hard and unmoved. Ajay wavers on his knees, blinking down at the blood soaking into his green jacket. There is utter betrayal splashed over his face, and he reaches for the urn with blood stained hands.

At the sound of the gunshot, Pagan whips around, taking in the scene. He slides to his knees in the snow and mud but Ajay's side. "Fuck!" he shrieks, trying to staunch the blood flow, ignoring Sabal. "NO, no nononono, dear boy, no, not now, not like this," he murmurs, even as blood overflows through his fingers.

Ajay's beyond the ability to speak, he just rolls his head towards Pagan, blinking slowly. There's a wealth of fear in his eyes and Pagan can only watch as that fades with the light inside him. Two feet from Lakshmana, Ishwari's ashes at their knees, Ajay Ghale dies in Pagan Min's arms.

Pagan stares up at Sabal, unarmed, grieving, and simply waits. The leader of the Golden Path – put there by Ajay – raises his gun again. “Long live the King,” he says, hard as steel.

“You know,” Pagan drawls, voice cracking on the second syllable, “I was going to give this country to _him_.”

Sabal pauses for the barest moment, but his expression clears quickly, hiding any hint of regret. “May Kyra guide you to your rest,” he tells Pagan.

He has something witty to say to that, something like 'I'll take my chances' but pain catches him unawares, just under his breastbone, hooked like a grapple as it drags him away from Ajay's still, cold form and into darkness.

When he opens his eyes again, he's sitting at his desk, Ishwari's pen clenched in one hand and Ajay's picture on his computer monitor.

“Your Majesty!” Pagan blinks up at the Commander who burst through the door, feeling fuzzy and disconnected. “Ajay Ghale has been sighted entering the Country!”

_What._

Blinking a few more times to clear his vision, he stares at the Commander, then looks down at the calendar on his laptop. November, 2014. Three months to the day, the same day that Ajay broke out of his Palace and ran off to join the Golden Path.

He swallows hard and says, “Send men to stop the bus. Stop, not shoot. I swear to whatever the hell the goddess of his country is, that if you shoot that fucking bus, I _will end you with this pen_.” He points at the man with it. “It will be very painful.”

There aren't many things Pagan doesn't understand, but he's never been accused of making the same mistake twice. He looks out over the cold mountains towards Lakshmana. “Well,” he says bitterly. “Praise Kyra.”

That's Rotation One.

*

Wonder upon wonders, they'd managed not to shoot the bus. Pagan Min steps out of the helicopter to Darpan, Ajay and several others simply standing around. Considering the last time Ajay had been near Pagan, he'd been bleeding out on the ground his urge to hug the boy is entirely understandable.

Not that Ajay seems to get it even the slightest little bit, if his stiffness and confusion are anything to go by. “Ajay Ghale,” Pagan says with maybe too much warmth. “It's good to see you again, my dear boy.”

Ajay shrugs his hands off, the rude little twat, and takes a step back. “Uh, who are you?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

_Ouch._

“Pagan Min,” he introduces, somewhat belatedly. “King, actually, but we can do away with that for now, though. See, I knew your mother.”

That grants him somewhat better consideration, and Ajay loosens his stance, turning to face Pagan openly. “You said... it was good to see me... again,” the boy murmurs. “When did you last see me?” He's curious, of course he's curious about that little slip. Pagan's usually much more precise with his words than that.

So he offers Ajay another smile. “You were...” ( _dead_ ) “Two years old when Ishwari took you to America. I...” ( _held you as you died_ ) “helped raise you, for a time.”

Frowning, Ajay meets his eyes. “That was twenty years ago.”

“You look like your mother,” is all Pagan can say in answer. “Now, come. Join me for lunch. We can talk more then.”

He gives Ajay a beat or two to think about it, opening the helicopter door invitingly and offering the boy his hand. After a second of thought, Ajay takes it, leather wrapped around leather and willingly joins him on the aircraft.

“Where is Lakshmana?” Ajay asks to fill the silence. “I looked on a map but I couldn't find it.”

Pagan's mouth twists. “Lakshmana isn't a place, dear boy. She's a who.” Twenty years and that pain never gets any easier to swallow: to know a righteous man murdered a tiny girl, an action that lost him the love of his life, his daughter and Ajay all in one fell swoop.

Ajay gazes at Pagan, his eyes sad. “Who was she then?” he asks, gentle.

“Your sister,” he answers. “Well, your half-sister. She... died. When she was only a year old, not long after your second birthday.”

That surprises Ajay, visible shock flitting over his face. “Half-sister? Then you... and... _my mother_?”

Pagan hands Ajay his pen, as an answer. “I cannot pretend to understand what happened between your mother and father, dear boy,” he explains quietly. “I am not a good man, nor am I a kind one. But Ishwari Ghale made me better, for a time. I loved her desperately, and when the time came... I let her go. I supposed I always hoped that one day, she'd come back.”

Fingers tightening visibly on the urn, Ajay chokes out a bitter laugh. “She did.”

Echoing Ajay's humor, Pagan shakes his head, a half smile dancing over his face and away just as quickly. “So she did. Funny how karma can be a complete and utter _bitch_.”

There's a pause where Ajay blinks at him, as though gauging how serious Pagan is. Then, he smiles, looking down at his lap. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Exactly.”

Pagan lets the helicopter fall into silence, content to look over Ajay. The boy looks better, well-rested, his face sad but not scarred or drawn. He feels a brief surge of anger, mostly directed at Ajay for running off to the Golden fucking Path instead of staying with Pagan. On the heels of that though, is a darker, larger surge of guilt. Perhaps if he hadn't killed the guard with the pen – Ishwari's pen – or stabbed Darpan with his own fork, Ajay would have considered staying.

Well, Pagan didn't do either of those things this time, and Ajay wasn't being kidnapped or shot at.

This time, this time he'd get it right.

*

Ajay eats the crab rangoon. He eats everything else put in front of him too, ravenously. Voraciously, even. Ishwari's urn sits at his elbow, watching the proceedings and Pagan wonders what she'd say about the picture the two of them make together.

Once, back before he'd turned his back on Mohan and all those that called Pagan friend, Ishwari had briefly held the Keys to the Kingdom, as Tarun Matara.

Technically, Ajay himself has more right to the throne in his littlest finger than either Sabal or Amita combined. And even if the boy left (and Pagan would follow, he let the boy go once – twice – he's really not doing it again) then the country would go to the new Tarun Matara.

“So,” he says, putting down his fork. “Let me show you Lakshmana.” He hides his expression behind his glass of vodka, before he can smile at Ajay again.

They stand together, and Pagan's already trying to think of ways to keep Ajay in the country after he fulfills his mother's last wish. As they walk down the hall towards the stairs, the building shakes with a hollow boom echoing down the halls. Ajay glances at Pagan who winces theatrically. “I did mention the terrorists, didn't I?” he asks.

Ajay's grip on his mother's urn visibly tightens. “Now what?”

Touching Ajay's shoulder gently, Pagan steers him around and back the way they came. “I'm sure the Royal Army has things well in hand. We'll wait until Paul gives the all clear. Come, back to the lunch table.”

Just behind them, feet pound up the stairs, followed by the sound of gunshots. A spray of blood hits the wall, drenching Pagan's suit jacket. Horrified, Pagan turns to Ajay, but the boy is already falling, Ishwari tumbling to the carpet. Looking up at their attackers finds Darpan and Sabal, the former holding a shoddy LMG and the latter looking as horrified as Pagan. It's better than the last time he looked down at Ajay at least. Pagan gathers Ajay's body close as blood bubbles up between his lips. He presses his forehead to Ajay's and prays.

Kyra answers him.

“Your Majesty! Ajay Ghale has been sighted entering the Country!”

Rotations Two through Twelve end with Pagan entirely uncertain how Ajay dies, only that he goes about his day and to suddenly be seated at his desk with Ishwari's disapproval hanging heavily over his shoulder.

Sometimes, it lasts months, sometimes Ajay burns the Poppy fields or destroys the heroin factory. Sometimes, he doesn't. On Round Thirteen, he falls horrifically to his death off the cliff at Durgesh as Pagan stares, frozen in shock. Each time the world resets itself, Ajay dies.

On iteration twenty-seven, Pagan shuts himself in the Palace, lets Paul, Noore and Yuma twist in the wind of Ajay's storm and he does nothing. When Ajay flies up in a buzzer, too close to the airspace around the Palace, an overzealous army commander shoots him down. Pagan doesn't even have time to reprimand him when –

“Your Majesty! Ajay Ghale has--!”

He holds up a hand, fingers trembling. “I know,” he interrupts. “Ajay Ghale is here.” He follows the commander to his helicopter, without further comment.

“I had my men stop the bus,” the man says once they're in the air.

Pagan fingers Ishwari's pen. “They didn't shoot the bus, did they?” he asks mildly, and the other man looks bemused, shaking his head. “Oh good, they can _fucking_ listen. Marvelous.” When they land, he waltzes out into the cold and stares daggers at Darpan. “Ajay,” he says, tone still too warm, “I'll be right with you, darling.”

He turns towards the terrorist, ignoring Ajay's murmured, “ _how do you know my name_?”

His expression has too many teeth and Darpan swallows noisily when he sees it. “Let's play a game,” he drawls. “It's called, which little monkey is a traitor to the crown! Shall we begin?” He shoots Ajay a different smile, let's it touch his eyes. “Not you, dear boy.”

Darpan flings himself to Pagan's feet, grovelling on his knees. “I'm sorry, your majesty! I did not know he was the son of Mohan!”

Pagan hisses, a surge of silver bright anger and disgust. “I don't give two shits about Mohan Ghale,” he growls. “I care about Ishwari. So if you must call him by a ridiculous title, call him Son of Ishwari. Better yet, call him by his fucking name!”

Flipping his hair out of his eyes, Pagan turns back to Ajay, registering the boy's confusion. “Um,” he says, clutching his mother's urn. “You knew my mother?”

“Yes,” Pagan murmurs. “I did. I knew them both, actually.” He glances over at Darpan. “This man is a commander for the terrorists known as the Golden Path. A group created to end the regime.” His smile grows sharp and brittle. “It was created by Mohan Ghale.”

At Pagan's elbow, Ajay startles. “So I'm your enemy,” he murmurs quietly, taking several steps back. “That's why you stopped the bus.”

A derisive snort is all Pagan can offer as a response. “Don't be so fucking over dramatic, dear boy,” he chides. Ajay's face very clearly tells him that he's being a hypocrite, but Pagan forges on. “You're hardly my enemy. I changed your diapers for fuck's sake. Carried you on my shoulders. Enemy? _Please._ ”

His soliders, Darpan and even Ajay shift uncomfortably at the information. “So uh...” Ajay says, voice a faint husk. “What do you want from me?”

“Why,” Pagan drawls. “I want you to come with me. See my kingdom. You'll be a fabulous protege, Ajay, you really will. I never did manage to have that heir.”

It's been twenty years – more now – since he'd found Lakshmana's little body in the gilded tub of her bathroom. Twenty years since he held Ishwari's sobbing form as they watched the fire consume her tiny fingers and toes. And twenty years since his heart had been hollowed out and left for dead. It never does get any easier to say out loud.

“Yeah,” Ajay says, interrupting his dark thoughts. “I'll come with you. Just... let these people go.”

Pagan meets Darpan's eyes. “If I were you, little monkey, I wouldn't text your dear Sabal to come rescue you. You get a free pass. Don't ruin it.”

Ajay gets into the helicopter, and Pagan follows with one last cold glare. “My mother asked me...” Ajay says once the doors shut and they begin to rise into the air, “She asked me to bring her back to Lakshmana.”

He'd already told his pilot where to take them, so he nods with a small smile. “We'll go there now,” he offers.

The boys face softens into a smile and he looks so much like Ishwari that it takes Pagan's breath away.

The missile, then, to the side of the helicopter, is a surprise.

“Your Majesty! Ajay Ghale has been sighted entering the country!”

With a scream of rage, he shoots the commander, then the computer – fracturing Ajay's image into blackness. His papers go everywhere, and the desk splinters nicely when he flips it, flinging ornaments and objects across the room. In moments, the room is entirely destroyed.

After that, he loses track of the rotations, though Ajay never gets further than the very first time.

The worst iteration is the seventieth. He ends his self imposed exile to visit Yuma at Durgesh, and though Ajay had been fucking shit up for his generals, Pagan really couldn't care.

Until someone – a prisoner? - rushes him from the darkness of the prison, the glint of a knife visible in his hands. Pagan reacts without thinking, he shoots from the hip, laying the attacker out.

Ishwari's eyes stare up at him from Mohan's brow, and Pagan has enough time for a vicious curse before pain hooks into him and ---

“Your Majesty! Ajay Ghale has been sighted entering the country!”

Pagan ignores him, staring down at his hands. “Ready my helicopter,” he murmurs after a long pause. “Tell them to wait, I'm... going to Lakshmana.”

The commander – he should really learn the man's name - blinks twice, clearly surprised but does as Pagan bids. For his part, Pagan is too distracted by the lingering feeling of the gun in his hands, and the drugged out eyes of Ajay Ghale glaring up at him. He walks out into the cold without incident, and slips through the door to her shrine for the first time in twenty years.

He kneels on the pillow there, lights the candles, sets the incense to smolder. It had taken him years to get the blend right, ocean air and gardenias just like Ishwari's hair.

“I don't know what to do,” he admits hoarsely. “Everything I've tried, he still dies. Every- _fucking_ -thing, Ishwari. Nothing works! When I manage to convince him, the Golden Path and their trigger happy twats come in and fuck it up. Sometimes, it's one of my own men!” He leans his head on the alters edge, hair brushing Lakshmana's urn. “I don't know what to do,” he repeats. “Kyra, please. Give me a sign. I can't... _do_ this anymore.”

Wind drags away the scent of Ishwari's hair, leaving him bereft of even that small comfort. In the end, he's a broken king wearing a stolen crown, kneeling at the shrine of his murdered child. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He stands, blows out the candles and returns to the helicopter.

Ishwari had always wished for peace.

It's the least he can give her son.

*

It takes him a while.

Peace does not come easy to a man like him – it came easier when Ishwari was there to guide him and suggest what _not_ to do – but he's starting to get a pretty good idea. It's a month into Rotation one-hundred-fifteen when he finally gets the epiphany, though.

“Bring me the Tarun Matara!” he orders his men. “I don't care who you have to kill to do it!” The group of soldiers manage to get a foot away before he sighs. “Wait.”

“Your Majesty?” the commander – Naveen - questions hesitantly. (He finally did get around to learning his name.)

Pagan smiles a mirthless smile. “Run up the white flag, Naveen,” he says. “Tell them I need Kyra's wisdom, tell her she can bring her idiot guards Sabal and Amita. Hell, she can bring whoever she wants to feel safe. I... need to parley.”

If his men are shocked by this, no one says anything. “Your will be done,” Naveen murmurs, snapping a sharp salute.

Once they're gone though, Pagan sits heavily in his chair. “If only that were fucking true,” he mutters.

Despair had become a close personal friend over the last sixty or so attempts to keep Ishwari's son alive. His hands are stained enough with blood – he's not Mohan Ghale to execute those who wish for peace ( _anymore_ ). It's simply that no one knows enough to wish for it anymore. The idea died with Lakshmana.

So he waits, and quietly prays that this will work. Krya, Banashur, Kalinag, someone has to be behind this.

Naveen brings him Bhadra, flanked by Amita and Sabal as well as a cadre of Golden Path guards. Though he's glad Ajay is not with them, he's a bit surprised. This rotation has Ajay more or less permanently glued to Sabal's side.

Amita's glaring poisonous daggers into Pagan's face, and she stands belligerently in front of Bhadra. “What do you want?” she snaps.

Pagan's eyes flick to the door and Naveen leads his men out without comment. “There,” Pagan drawls, “now we can speak.”

He meets the little girls eyes, surprised that hers are so dark, and full of what looks like sympathy. “Amita,” she says quietly, slipping her hand into the woman's, tugging gently. “It's okay.”

“Indeed,” Pagan agrees. “I'm not here to kill you. I simply have a question for the Tarun Matara.”

“Well?” Amita asks sharply. “Go on!”

Biting back a surge of irritation, Pagan leans his elbows on his desk. “In all the history, in all the lore, the – the nonsense you lot believe in, has it ever been written that... someone could relive a set of days over and over and _fucking_ over?”

All three of them frown, Amita's angry (no surprises there), Bhadra's considering (she's thinking about it at least) but Sabal's is horrified (surprising, that.)

“That would be a punishment beyond even Yalung!” he says shortly. “What... makes you ask?”

Pagan's smile is bitter. “This is the one hundred fifteenth time I've lived Ajay Ghale's death,” he says simply, evenly.

Bhadra sucks in a sharp breath. “But Ajay isn't dead!”

He inclines his head towards her. “No. Not yet. And when he does, it'll be the one hundred sixteenth fucking time.”

There's a breath or two of silence when Amita chuckles, then she's laughing – a harsh, hysterical sound – and she drops into the seat just behind her. “How crazy do you think we are?” she asks, through the laughter.

Choosing to ignore her lest he be tempted to shoot her, Pagan turns his attention back to the Tarun Matara. “I cannot save him,” he admits. “Either he dies in some accident, one of my men cocks it up – or one of yours does.”

Sabal snorts. “One of mine?”

He's moving before he means to, fisting his hands in Sabal's shirt and dragging him in close. “You have killed him yourself!” he snarls. “Shot him in the back when he was of no more use to you! He died in my arms!” he shouts, shaking Sabal hard. “I have spent years trying to correct your fucking mistake!” He shoves the other man back. “But it's become amazingly clear to me, that I cannot save him.”

A gasp draws his attention and Pagan looks down at Bhadra. “Kyra,” she breathes. “You're in love with him.”

He jerks back, retreating back around his desk. “I am not.” Frowning down at her, he sneers, "I was very much in love with his mother.”

“Was,” she says, not cowed in the slightest.

He blinks at her, confused. “What.”

Bhadra licks her lips, nerves flashing through her green eyes before saying, “Was. You said was. You were in love with Ishwari. In... in past tense.” Amita hisses Bhadra's name quietly from her chair, but the little Tarun Matara just smiles. “Do you even want to be our enemy?” she asks.

Pagan snorts, sitting down and steepling his fingers. “We might have had peace twenty years ago, if Mohan fucking Ghale, the trigger happy twat, hadn't executed the Commanders we'd met with,” he admits.

Sabal goes very pale, sinking into his own seat. “What?” he breathes.

“Oh, didn't you know?” Pagan asks archly. “Mohan Ghale went off the goddamn deep end, killed anyone who talked of peace. Murdered a year old girl simply because she was mine.” He reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a photo, throwing it down on the desk like a gauntlet. “Mohan Ghale got everything he deserved. His son hasn't earned the same courtesy. Time resets every time he dies, and I have enough of his blood on my hands.” Pagan looks down. “Now, get out.”

Sabal stares at Lakshmana's picture, face pale and fingers shaking. “I didn't know.”

Amita scoffs, standing, but Bhadra picks up the picture to look at the smiling little girl. “What was her name?”

“Lakshmana,” Pagan answers.

The name makes Sabal look up again, a sharp look in his green eyes. He mouths the word before looking away and Pagan wonders why, for a brief moment. In the end, it doesn't matter, it was a fools hope to think they could help him.

He's silent as they leave. One hundred and fifteen deaths, and he's no closer to the answer.

*

It's three days after his unhelpful meeting with Bhadra and her Golden Path idiots, when Naveen – it's always Naveen to rush into his rooms and announce something, he's noticed – comes flying into his office, looking like Christmas came early. “Your Majesty!” he gasps, leaning over to catch his breath. “Ajay Ghale is here!”

That's a surprise. Pagan takes a moment to think about why, before he waves Naveen away and says, “Send him in, then.”

About five minutes later, Ajay enters the room, shoulders set and very well armed. Pagan raises an eyebrow at the auto-crossbow at his hip, the shotgun slung across his back and the sniper rifle folded up beside it. “None of them seemed to want to disarm me,” Ajay says, a little pointedly.

That does sound like his men. “Well, I'd be worried if you didn't simply walk up to the front door and knock. Thank you for not shooting the place up, getting a good architect up here is very difficult, as you can imagine.”

That makes Ajay snicker, and he drops easily into one of the chairs in front of Pagan's desk. “I had a very interesting conversation with Sabal a few days ago,” he says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “He says you know where Lakshmana is, and that I should ask you about it.”

“Her,” Pagan corrects instantly. “Lakshmana is... was... a person. A child.” He sighs heavily, standing and gesturing towards the side door. “Here. I'll explain on the way.”

Ajay falls into step with him, fingers shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “That explains why I couldn't find her on a map.”

Pagan laughs, ducking his head and letting his hair fall into his eyes. “I wouldn't have put her on a map. Lakshmana was my daughter,” he's said it so many times in the last one hundred fifteen rotations that the pain has faded a little, “she... died, when she was one year old.”

He can feel Ajay's eyes on him and then the boy says, flat and without inflection: “wow.” Pagan glances at him, surprised. “You just lied to me.”

“I did not lie,” Pagan snaps. “But if you'd prefer to hear the entire truth, fine. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.” He pushes the door to the Courtyard open, gesturing to the small building off to one side. “Lakshmana was my daughter, and her mother was Ishwari Ghale,” he says, tight, unhappy. “I do realize how that sounds, dear boy. But I loved your mother.” He leans his forehead on the door, taking another breath. “Women can say that they love you in the moment, and really mean it. While men can only love in hindsight, when too much distance has built up. So I... never told her, how I felt.”

Ajay blinks slowly. “Um, you're not about to announce you're actually my father, right?”

Pagan recoils. “ _Fuck no_.” Over Ajay's amused laughter, he shoves a hand through his hair and turns to face the inconsiderate boy. “You're absolutely Mohan Ghale's son. He sent Ishwari and you to me – to spy, ostensibly – but... things changed. She got pregnant, and she gave us Lakshmana.”

“How did she die?” he asks, looking over at the door instead of Pagan's facial expression.

“Mohan Ghale drowned her in the bathtub,” Pagan says quietly. Ajay's fingers slip on the door handle and he turns to Pagan with horror splashed over his face. “Ishwari is the one who chased him back to their old household and she killed him. It... was probably in self defense, Ishwari only ever wanted peace. She tried so hard to get peace for us, Ajay. In the end, she just ran.”

Ajay frowns, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her urn. It's a bit scuffed up, but the words and the double kukri are clear. “You didn't follow her.”

“No. I came in here twenty years ago, and came out... well, this.” He looks away from the door. “Go on. I'll wait here.”

The boy disappears inside the door way, and the smell of gardenia's and ocean air floats out through the cracked door. Pagan sits on the stoop and waits, more or less patiently. They've never managed to actually get him into Lakshmana before, and he wonders absently if now that he's done so, now that Ishwari has been put to rest, if Ajay dies again, will the world still reset itself?

Ajay comes out, eyes lighting upon Pagan immediately. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He settles himself next to him, staring off into the snow capped mountains. “You didn't have to let me do that.”

“Of course I did, dear boy,” he drawls. “Ishwari would never forgive me.”

“So uh, where do we go from here?” Ajay asks, the first sign of nerves crossing his face. “I'm really not looking forward to shooting up the walls trying to get out of here if you decide to arrest me.”

Pagan scowls, looking him over. “Why would I arrest you, exactly?”

Ajay points to the Golden Path symbol on his sleeve. “Aren't I a terrorist?”

“So was Ishwari if you really think about it,” Pagan says, amused. “I don't give a shit. This country is yours if you want it.”

The double take Ajay gave him was truly a sight to behold. “You can't just give me a Country!” he hisses. “That's irresponsible! What the hell am I going to do with a Country?”

Pagan shrugs one shoulder. “You don't think it's time for me to make my grand escape, dear boy? Sabal and Amita are out for blood, and the last time a leader of the Golden Path came anywhere near me, I lost the nearest and dearest to my heart. Am I not allowed to be tired?”

The boy tilts his head to one side, a small frown appearing between his eyes. He looks just like his father when he does that, Pagan notes unhappily. Sometimes, looking at Ajay makes him feel so god damn old. “Sure,” he says, after thinking about it for a few minutes. “That makes sense. But uh, I don't know what I would do with a country.”

“What anyone with a country does, dear boy. You could rule.” Ajay snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “What, you don't think you could do it? You're the only heir of the last rightful head of this god forsaken place, Ajay.”

But Ajay just keeps snickering and shaking his head. “No. No, no way. I don't think so.” He shifts on the step, a nervous gesture. “I've never been able to do public speaking. I uh, failed the course in college because I couldn't do it. So um, no. Being a king would just... no.”

Pagan makes himself shrug and smile. “Nothing written says you have to make announcements yourself. If you're the King, you can do as you like. Make Sabal do your announcements for you – or that irritating shit, Rabi Ray Rana.” He suggests it but the idea of Ajay surrounding himself with those idiots actually causes physical pain, somewhere around his ribcage.

“Yeah...” Ajay agrees, with a strange twist to his mouth. “Don't get me wrong, I like Rabi, but after he went on a radio tangent about bidets and my underwear, I'm not sure I could trust him to give a statement to the general public. Ever.”

Pagan snorts, inelegant but honest. “I really don't blame you there, dearest. And Sabal? You've been quite close to him in recent months.” The slight blush that rises on Ajay's cheeks makes Pagan drag his eyes away, that foreign tightness in his chest returning full force.

Ajay licks his lips, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah. Sabal's... a little intense, but he means well.” He heaves a sigh. “He loves Kyrat for what she is, Amita only wants to force a change.” Shaking his head, Ajay glances over at Pagan as though gauging his reaction. “I... Only wanted to lay my mom to rest you know? I really didn't sign up to make all the big decisions for an entire people.”

Greatly daring, Pagan rests one hand on Ajay's shoulder, light enough to remove quickly but heavy enough to feel. Other than the first rotation where the boy died in Pagan's arms, he can count on one hand the amount of times he's touched Ajay. “I understand,” he offers gently. “I wish things had been different.”

To his eternal surprise, Ajay leans into him, a warm length against his side. “I wish I'd stayed for lunch. I actually like crab rangoon too,” he says quietly. “I'm sorry that I didn't.”

That pang of emotion expands, nearly crippling him. “I suppose I can't blame you,” Pagan says flippantly. “I'd forgotten you'd not grown up in our country and were less than expecting the tortures it could bring. I imagine the screaming put you off the crab rangoon?”

Ajay smiles a little. “A bit. I mean, if I had thought about it, if I had known... I've killed a lot of people, Pagan.” He hunches his shoulders, but doesn't dislodge Pagan's hand. “That isn't who I am.”

So he squeezes Ajay's shoulder. “It wasn't Ishwari's way either.” The boy relaxes against him and isn't that a fucking joke, that even after all the shit that's happened in this rotation, that Ajay still refuses to be afraid of him.

“Someday,” Ajay says, shoulder to shoulder with Pagan, with Pagan's arm loose around his back, “Someday they're going to ask me to choose. I don't know that I can do that.”

Pagan has to think about what Ajay's done thus far for the Golden Path, how far he'd fallen into their schemes. He'd destroyed the Poppy fields – idiot – but not the heroine factory. If he recalls correctly, one of the next things that Ajay is ordered to do is to get Paul from his city of pain. He does have a party coming up in a few weeks, same as every rotation. “You've done as your mother asked,” Pagan points out thickly. “You could leave.”

Ajay turns to look at him. “I can't actually. You have my passport.”

In a move that gives away everything, Pagan slides his arm away from Ajay's shoulders to reach into his coat pocket. As Ajay stares at him in surprise, he takes the boy's hands and folds them around the passport he'd kept in the inner pocket of his jacket, right next to Ishwari's pen. “It was remiss of me to keep it so long,” he says. “I do apologize, dear boy.”

Curling his fingers around the booklet, Ajay stares down at his hands, eyes obviously tracing what he holds. “I... Thank you.” He stands slowly, averting his gaze. “And, thank you again for... for Lakshmana.”

Realizing the moment for any other heart to heart conversation has passed, Pagan stands as well. “You're welcome, for all of it. It was never my intention to become your enemy, darling. I'm sorry it's come to this.”

Ajay offers him a smile, small but seemingly geniune. “Me too, Pagan.” He starts for the door, a small side thing that opens out into the high walls around the Palace. “Hey.” He turns back, just a little, hand already reaching for a grappling hook of all fucking things and swinging it lazily by his hip. “If I asked you, right now, to get me on a plane and let me go back to California... would you?”

The answer doesn't even require thought. “Without hesitation, dear boy.”

That makes Ajay smile again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. That-- That's good.” He's gone a moment later, the door swinging closed behind him. Pagan doesn't do anything so melodramatic as follow him to watch, but he thinks about it for longer than is fair.

He eventually makes it back to his office, spinning Ishwari's pen between his fingers. It was probably the best conversation he'd had with Ajay. Perhaps there's hope for their relationship yet.

It isn't until much later that Pagan realizes that he hasn't offered crab rangoon since iteration fifty eight, when he lost the taste for it.

*

Ajay does not kidnap Paul.

Oh, he infiltrates Paul's city of pain, blows it up spectacularly, shoves the poor man into the boot of his stolen car and – brings him straight to Pagan's door. Paul wears a black hood – hilariously ironic – and he's swearing vigorously under his breath. Ajay shoves him inelegantly through the doors of the Palace, not even flinching when the man crashes to his knees with a painful sounding crunch. “Would you stop talking?” Ajay says, nudging him with a foot. “There is literally nothing you can offer me that will get me take off that hood and untie your wrists until I'm good and ready.”

Paul takes a deep breath, obviously gearing up for a vitrolic rejoiner, when his mobile starts to ring. Pagan stands above them in the gallery, simply watching. This is an unexpected deviation from the usual script, he's very curious what Ajay is thinking. Paul freezes for half a second, before he says very, very quietly, “please, let me answer my phone. It's my daughter, I always answer for her. I can't – please, Ajay.”

The boy pulls it out of Paul's back pocket, without being told, Pagan notices, and thumbs it on before putting it to Paul's ear. “Ashley!” Paul breathes in relief. “Hi babygirl. You did? That's amazing.” He laughs at something she says but the sound is strained. “Of course I got you the gold chain necklace. Dad always follows through when he says he will, right? I love you babygirl.” He listens for a moment, and laughs again. “I wish I could spend all night talking to you too, sweetheart. But daddy has a meeting. Call me before you go to bed tonight, okay?” He nods a little. “I love you too. Have fun at soccer practice.” Ajay closes the phone for him and Paul takes a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” Ajay looks away from the man on the floor and meets Pagan's eyes as he walks down the stairs into the foyer. “Hi,” he greets. “You need to get him out of the country and back to his family.”

Paul twists around, nearly losing his balance. “Who are you talking to?”

“Well, well, well, this is a surprise,” Pagan drawls, loud and obvious. “I'd heard about your adventure at the city but I had no idea you'd be giving me the present you liberated from it's walls. Paul, you're losing your fucking touch.”

“The little shit headbutted me, Pagan,” Paul grumbles. “I wasn't expecting it.”

Pagan reaches out and removes the black bag, then smoothing Paul's hair back. “That little shit just saved your life, do try to be a bit grateful.” He glances at Ajay who leans against one of the pillars holding up the gallery. “Not that I'm not pleased but why did you bring him to me?”

Ajay's eyes slide away, and there's soemthing in his face that Pagan can't read. “There's been enough death,” is all he offers as an answer. “You love your daughter, right?” he asks, turning his attention to Paul.

Paul snorts, derisive. “Of course I do.”

“Then go home,” Ajay says, voice unkind. “You have a family and a daughter who clearly idolizes you. Get out of this place, don't come back and you'll remember that I could have taken you to Sabal.”

Instead of responding, Paul looks to Pagan. Taking in Ajay's firm expression, the bruise on his forehead, and the blood streaking the sleeves of his jacket, Pagan nods. “The King has spoken. I'll have Naveen bring the helicopter around.”

Paul looks slack with shock, and so does Ajay for a brief moment. He leans down, slicing through the bonds around Paul's wrists. “Don't fuck it up,” he cautions quietly. “Is Noore's family really dead?” Paul hesitates for a second before nodding ruefully.

“Those were my orders, I fear,” Pagan says, his chest seizing when Ajay turns his disappointed eyes in his direction. “No loose ends,” he murmurs.

Whatever Ajay has to say to that is interrupted by his phone ringing, and he answers absently. “Yeah?”

“We saw the explosion brother,” Sabal's rich voice says clearly from the satalite phone. “Amita told me to wait until you reappeared but, I was worried. Do you have de Pleur?”

Ajay gazes over at Paul, face shadowed. “No. I'm sorry Sabal, I-- I...” And bless the boy and his little lying heart, his voice breaks. “I killed him. I didn't mean to, I just... I was so angry.”

There's a brief pause where Ajay just breathes raggedly and Sabal says, “did you stay away because you thought we'd be angry with you, brother?”

Swallowing, Ajay turns from Paul to look out the door he'd left open. “... Maybe.”

“I would have done the same,” Sabal soothes. “It's unfortunate, I'm sure he had quite a bit of information, but it's no loss to the Golden Path. Come back to me, whenever you're ready.”

The call ends, and Ajay turns back around. “There. You should be safe enough for now, but if you stay for too long, they're going to figure out that I lied to them.”

Paul rose to his feet. “Ajay...”

“Don't you thank me. Don't do it, de Pleur. I didn't do it for you.” Ajay turns to look at Pagan, too much in his eyes to name. “Get him out of here, Pagan.”

Pagan quirks a smile, inclines his head and wonders when he stopped seeing Ishwari in the boy's features.

*

 

If Pagan recalls correctly, the next thing the Golden Path will ask Ajay to do is blow up the Heroin Refinery. And if Ajay follows his pattern, he'll do it. Pagan is expecting the reports any day now, with a death toll and damage control. He is not, however, expecting Ajay to ring him on his mobile early in the morning a week after Paul flew back to the United States.

His heart – the traitorous thing – leaps in his chest when he sees the name scroll over his phone, and he answers before it can even ring once. “Ajay?”

“How fucked is the country if I blow up the Factory?” he asks without preamble or pleasantries. “Because if the only answer to saving Kyrat from itself is drugs or no drugs, this choice really fucking sucks.”

Pagan chuckles. “Fucked, but we can come back from it, if we have to.” He has seven accountants do the work for him, but he's pretty certain there's enough money tucked away to get some other business ventures going. “I hear tourism is a moneymaker.”

Ajay makes a disgusted noise. “Drugs or tourists. Those are my choices right now? Fun.” There a loud rushing in the background, and Pagan can recognize the sounds of the ATVs that litter the countryside. “Thanks, Pagan.”

Realizing the conversation is coming to an end, Pagan flounders for a second for something else, anything else, to speak about. “Will you tell me about the Tarun Matara?” he asks, then closes his eyes because, _really_?

Ajay pauses, the sound of the ATV dying away. “I think you know more about it than I do.”

He waves a hand, warming to his topic. “No, no, I don't mean the religious crap. I mean the girl. Bhadra.”

There's a smile in Ajay's voice when he says, “she's great. Bhadra's a sweet girl, though she's stuck playing favorites with Amita and Sabal. Amita still hates me because I've never taken her side, so she tries to keep Bhadra away from me. But, she's a kid, you know? She's the one that told me that not everything was okay with how Mohan died.”

Pagan hums, looking down at the papers on his desk. “Would she be a good Queen?”

The other side of the line goes deathly silent. “Why.” Ajay finally asks, voice hard and flat.

“Well, Kyrati law states that if there's no ruler from the Royal Family, the seat goes to the Tarun Matara and if she isn't of age, her guardians will take regency. If you've no interest in running Kyrat, and we're both leaving, then that leaves Bhadra.”

“Oh,” Ajay's tone thaws out, and he says, “But Bhadra's guardians are Sabal and Amita.”

Rolling his eyes, and leaning back in his seat, Pagan huffs out a dramatic sigh. “That is the problem, yes.”

Ajay chuckles. “Honestly, Sabal isn't a bad guy. He's a little set in his ways, but he's at least stopped calling me the Son of Mohan like it's the title he wanted more than me.”

Pagan preens, fulling contributing his conversation with the man for his major personality change. “Well, if it becomes something I have to really worry about, I'll publicly endorse Sabal. You like him, if nothing else.”

“That's probably not high praise. Thanks for the information, Pagan. I'm going to go blow up your heroin production factory.” He can hear the faint sounds of Ajay kitting himself out, the telltale snick and snap of a routine ammo check, the fabric on fabric sound of adjusting his harnesses. “Bye.”

“Have fun, dear boy.” Pagan's about to hang up, before he says, “Oh, and Ajay?”

“Yeah?” he answers immediately.

Pagan licks his lips. “Do be careful. Please.”

There's a pause, and Ajay says, gentle and surprised, “I will, Pagan. I promise.”

After Ajay hangs up the connection, leaving Pagan staring down at his phone, he has to wonder if Bhadra wasn't far off the mark after all.

*

No matter how many times Pagan reads the report, just knowing that Ajay took down his refinery with three pieces of C4 and a god damn elephant never ceases to amuse him. He waits, more or less patiently, for Naveen to come tell him that the Refinery is demolished, and that to fix it will take more Rupees than they actually have. He's absolutely not expecting a thunderous Naveen to escort a solider into his office, hands lashed behind his back.

“Go on,” Naveen says without greeting Pagan. “Tell him what you told me,” he orders, shaking the solider hard.

For his part, the solider looks miserable, and he hunches his shoulders. “I shot Ajay Ghale.”

Pagan can actually feel the blood drain out of his face, and if he hadn't been sitting, he'd be on the floor. His entire body throbs with pain, and he swallows hard. “What.”

“Ajay Ghale attacked the Refinery this morning,” the solider says. “I arrived with my squad just after he blew it up... And as he was running away, I shot him. It... was a good shot, it took him in the back. He fell, and he did not get back up.”

With shaking fingers, Pagan reaches for his mobile, scrolling through his most recent calls list and bringing up Ajay's number. It rings for an absurdly long time before the phone disconnects. He calls it again, but it only rings damningly before it ends. There's no voicemail to listen to, nothing of Ajay left on the other side of the line.

Slowly, he puts the phone down, turning to Naveen and the unnamed soldier. “Kill him,” he tells Naveen, and turns away from the begging man. “Take him out back and make a god damn spectacle of it.”

Quietly, Naveen does as he's ordered, and Pagan is left sitting alone at his desk. He has no way to contact Sabal, no way of knowing whether or not Ajay is dead or just wounded. Things have changed so much this rotation that he has no idea if the magic, if the curse has ended because Ishwari was laid to rest.

He sends Eric to the Refinery in the end, gives him a large contingent of guards to look for Ajay or any sign that he'd been there. They come back hours later, empty handed. “We found the area where he was wounded,” Eric reports, a faint twang at the end of his words. “There was... it was a lot of blood, boss. It looks like the shot didn't kill him but the blood trail ends at the river, so we don't know where he ended up.”

Pagan swears quietly, and tightens his grip on the mobile in his hands. “Thank you, Eric. You can go,” he orders.

Ajay's phone doesn't ring anymore, it just tells him the phone is off, and the prescriber is not available. Either the battery died, or something happened to the phone. Pagan isn't sure which is worse, or which one means he survived.

He goes to Lakshmana early in the morning before the sun rises, kneeling in front of the ashes there. “Please,” he says quietly. “Please just let him live. I can't live this one again, I don't know what else you want from me. Kyra, please. Just give me one more chance.”

The courtyard is silent, he can't even hear the wind. He waits inside the shrine until the sun touches the doorway, but nothing resets, nothing changes.

It's day one of the last rotation and Ajay Ghale is still dead.

*tbc


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the last rotation and Ajay Ghale is still dead.
> 
> Until he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was my birthday so I spent all of it writing : D

PART TWO - PAGAN

Two weeks pass.

Pagan spends every evening in Lakshmana's shrine, he prays quietly to her, to Ishwari, to Kyra. Sometimes he calls Ajay's mobile, but after four days the phone simply tells him the number is no longer in service.

He hears nothing and knows less, completely blind in a world he used to know everything in. Clearly whatever Kyrati magic had affected him had faded away when Ishwari had been laid to rest with her daughter.

He wishes desperately that he'd told Ajay what was going on, kept him from blowing up the Refinery. Perhaps if he'd lied about the state of the country Ajay would have sided with Amita, kept the factory in operation. Everything else had been so different, why not that?

He's sitting down to dinner – taken at his desk – when Naveen bursts into his office, a blinding grin on his face. “Your majesty!” he shouts, nearly careening into the chair. “Your Majesty, you must come quickly!”

Pagan raises an eyebrow, projecting boredom in an effort to hasten Naveen's leaving. Ajay is dead, and he really would prefer to be alone. “Must I?”

Naveen leans in, his grin only growing wider. “Ajay Ghale was sighted in Noore's arena not even an hour ago!”

Relief floods him so quickly that Pagan actually gets a little lightheaded from it. “Is she dead?”

Surprisingly, Naveen shakes his head. “No. Ajay dragged her off her stage, and they disappeared.”

Another major deviation from the norm – most times Ajay simply couldn't stop Noore, letting her fall to her death off her stage. This time he must have been closer to her and stopped her before she could fall.

Pagan is starting to think he should just send Yuma away before her turn comes up on the list, but he knows her well enough to know that she probably would ignore him. And, as he has for the last hundred plus rotations, he'll have to give her up, set her in Ajay's path, give him a reason to want to rule the country.

He's really not sure why he never figured it out before, honestly. Selling out his own half sister for an American outsider who literally refused to give him the time of day? No wonder the Tarun Matara had him so easily pegged.

Disgusted with himself, Pagan pushes away his dinner – he hasn't been hungry lately anyway – and stands up. “I assume it was all caught on film?” he asks, as Naveen leads him down to the War Room.

“Yes,” Naveen answers. “It's obvious that Ghale is injured though, so he must have been recovering for the last two weeks.”

Pagan nods reflexively. “At least he's alive,” he murmurs, not really intending to say it aloud.

His commander turns back to look at him, a strange expression on his normally expressive face. “Look, your majesty, I don't really care what's going on with you and Ghale, but if you're so worried about him all the time, why don't you just order the other Commanders to tell their men not to attack or at least not shoot to kill?”

It's a fair question. “I suppose because when he gets to me, when he's learned everything the Golden Path has to offer, I want him to be ready to take my place.” The pang he gets whenever he thinks of Ajay as king hits him a hundredfold but he breathes through it.

Naveen doesn't look like he understands any better than he did but he mercifully changes the subject and leads him to a computer where a frozen, blurry still of Ajay is on the screen. He has one arm around Noore's waist, and he's got his head tilted towards her as though speaking into her ear.

“There are a couple other screen shots but this is the clearest,” Naveen explains.

Ajay's left arm is hanging at his side, the gun in his hand visibly loose. Pagan wonders why he's even out there if he isn't fully recovered, and his estimation of Sabal goes down another few points.

But Ajay is well. That's enough for him, for now.

He spends another few days waiting to see if Ajay will show up, thinks about radioing him but if his mobile isn't working anymore, his radio probably suffered the same fate. Unlike with Paul, Ajay doesn't bring Noore to him which is probably the better thing, having Noore's family killed was not exactly his wisest moment.

Truth be told, he doesn't even know why he gave that order anymore. It's hardly like her child and sisters were any real threat.

Though after another trying phone call with Yuma, he remembers he had them killed to shut her up. He loves her, she's his sister in all but blood, but he's so tired of defending himself to her. And he's utterly exhausted his tolerance at being called weak.

But when she calls and asks for a meeting, he goes, because that's what older brothers do.

He's really, really not expecting Ajay to be trussed up and waiting for him in a cell when he arrives though. The boy clearly hasn't noticed him yet, his jaw is clenched and his face is tight with pain, so whatever wound he'd sustained from the Refinery mishap is still plaguing him. But his color is good and he's breathing easily, so some of the worry living in Pagan's stomach eases. He opens the door to the cell, and the sound gains Ajay's attention.

Surprisingly, the boy smiles a little, a slight quirk of his lips and he turns as best he's able towards Pagan. “Hi,” he greets, like they're having tea and he isn't locked up in Durgesh prison. “Don't suppose you're here to bust me out?”

Mutely, Pagan just shakes his head, walking into the small cell and kneeling at Ajay's feet. “I'm sorry to say no,” he says quietly. “Honestly, I didn't even know you were here.”

A strange expression crosses Ajay's face, but it passes quickly before Pagan can get a read on it. “Well it was worth a try,” he says, an edge of humor to his voice. He shifts his shoulders a little, wincing. “So if you're not here to rescue me, are you my executioner?”

That thought doesn't even bear thinking about. “No! Absolutely not.” He licks his lips, trying to think of what he said the first time Ajay had been encarcerated in Durgesh. Something about tough love, he remembers that – dear god, how obvious could be be?

“So,” Ajay asks, and his voice cracks a little, “where's Yuma?”

Since Pagan doesn't actually know the answer he just shrugs. “Coming, I expect. Did you enjoy your time with the CIA?”

Ajay huffs, his eyes sliding away to look out onto the mountain view. “Not particularly.”

“I suppose that's fair, considering.” Pagan pats his knee gently, an excuse to feel him, still not quite believing his eyes. “You know, I thought you were...”

Yuma snapping at him makes him trail off, and he sighs, turning to face his adoptive sister who stands in the doorway. “You've seen him,” she says in English. “You can go now.”

Glancing back at Ajay, the boy's expression very clearly says 'don't leave me here' but Pagan heaves himself to his feet. “You're about to mind-fuck the poor boy, at least let me sugar coat it a bit for him. And, Yuma, do remember that I want him alive and with all the important pieces intact.”

His sister stares at him for a half second before she snarls, throwing her arms up in utter irritation. “Christ,” she swears, “this is Ishwari Ghale all the fuck over again. What _is_ it about the Ghale's that makes you weak? Get out, I have work to do.”

Ajay chokes something out behind him but Pagan really can't look at him. “Fine, I'm going.” He lets Yuma lead him out of the cell, half listening as she bitches about love and weakness in Cantonese.

Once he's suitably placated her, he sends Naveen back to their nearest base and heads towards the cliffside under Ajay's room with a view. It's cold but the jeep is new, and the heater works well enough. He waits, phone silenced, radio turned off, and startles when Naveen climbs into the front seat. “You didn't think I was really going to let you wander off alone, did you?” he asks. “Eric and Gary would have ripped my head off.” He looks out the window, squinting into the snow and fog. “You waiting for the boy?”

Pagan sighs, leaning his head on the window. “As always.”

They wait in companionable silence until Ajay tumbles from the side of the cliff – was something up there with him? - and lands awkwardly in the snow. His scream of pain raises the hair on the back of Pagan's neck, and Naveen curses, flinging himself into the snow to get to Ajay's prone form.

The snow is deep where he'd landed, and there's enough blood pooling under Ajay that Pagan worries he has new injuries on top of the one that he'd already sustained from the Refinery. “Boss, we've got to get him out of the cold. And probably back to the Golden Path.”

Between the two of them, they manage to get Ajay into the back seat of the jeep, and Naveen gently steers Pagan away from the drivers side door. “We'll take him to their nearest outpost,” Pagan says as they pass over the bridge unmolested. Once back in the South, Pagan turns on his radio to the Golden Path frequency. “Sabal?” He asks, injecting some cheerfulness into his tone. “Oh, Sabal, I have a present for you! I'm leaving him in Naccarapur. Do be a darling and come pick him up.”

He really needs to not be there when Ajay wakes up.

Maybe Yuma has a point about love making him weak. It's a sobering thought, and as he gazes at Ajay's face, serene in sleep, he realizes that whatever he'd seen in the boy that reminded him of Ishwari really is gone now. The boy is his own man now, and Pagan's going to preserve that, even if it means watching him fall in ( _love_ ) with Sabal.

Ishwari would be proud, he thinks. He's finally learned the meaning of peace.

*

After Yuma's damning confession at Durgesh, Pagan is not expecting to see Ajay for a good long while. There's little can do though, besides worry and wonder if the boy even knows how Yuma feels about love and weakness.

So when he knocks on Pagan's door a week later, Pagan is understandably surprised. “Ajay, my boy! You look much better than the last time I saw you.” He keeps his voice even, charming, it's this conversation that will make or break their relationship in all likelihood.

Ajay is frowning, a small divet between his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees. “The doctor says I'm lucky I wasn't in the snow any longer than I was.”

In deference to Ajay's surly expression, Pagan widens his own smile. “I'm glad to hear that, dear boy.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Ajay shoves his hands in his pockets, one shoulder – the one uninjured – hunched a bit. “I guess I owe you some thanks,” he says. “Sabal says you're the one who dropped me off at the outpost, and Noore-- the doctor, I mean, she said that if I'd been left out there, unconscious, I'd either have bled out or lost all use of my shoulder.”

Pagan waves a hand. “I don't care that Noore works for you now. Considering what I did to her, defection is a small price to pay.” He looks down at his desk. “I... am sorry though, about Yuma. If I thought she would listen to me, I'd send her out of the country.”

Ajay ducks his head, shoulders hunching with a visible wince. “Yeah... I could have done without the drugs.”

“So,” Pagan says, laying his hands on the table. “Not that I don't appreciate the house call to let me know you're safe, I'm getting the feeling that it isn't entirely the reason you're here. Talk to me, darling.”

At his words, Ajay only frowns harder, but he pulls a piece of folded paper out of his pocket. “Here.”

Pagan takes them, unfolding the slightly damp papers carefully. He scans them, already knowing what he'll find. “These are Yuma's,” he says.

“I know. Read them.” Pagan eyes Ajay but for once he cannot read the boy's face. When he catches Pagan looking at him though, he very pointedly turns his gaze towards the papers on the desk.

Skimming them, Pagan sees the same vitriol that Yuma always expounds when faced with love and weakness. “Yuma has always felt so,” he says when he's finished the last page. “She idolized me once, but hated your mother for,” he shakes the page, “making me weak.”

Ajay nods, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “She accused you of having the same weakness for me.”

The moment of truth.

He cannot read Ajay's face, for once in this god forsaken time loop, and Pagan is already worried that this is his last chance. “Of course she said that,” he says flippantly, with a small smile. “You represent everything she hates in me. Ishwari Ghale changed me – irrevokably, and probably for the better. But before your mother, before her love, I was... very much like Yuma. I trained her, from a young age, I taught her everything she knows about cruelty.” He sighs, folding the papers back up and setting them on the edge of the desk. “I told you before, I am not a kind man nor am I a good one. Ishwari made me better... for a time.”

Ajay nods slowly, finally entering the room and sinking into a chair with a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But that doesn't explain why she thinks you're in --- you know. With me.”

“It does, I suppose, if you're Yuma. She only sees the things I have done on the outside perspective. I've left the Palace more than I ever have in years, I've – well, I've rescued you from her, and allowed you more liberties than any other.”

“And why is that?” Ajay asks, looking up. “Because I'm Ishwari's son?”

The idea that he could only love Ajay because of Ishwari is revolting. “Of course not!”

Ajay scowls. “Stop lying to me, Pagan.” He stands up, one arm wrapped around his middle like it pains him. “I've got to go.”

“Wait, Ajay,” The boy pauses at the door, and Pagan finds himself at utter loss. “You earned my respect, long ago. Your blood didn't do that. Only you.” He tries on a smile for size. “It's no secret I wish for you to replace me.”

The boy's shoulders slump. “You never did manage to have that heir,” he murmurs. “I'm not a King.”

“You could be.”

Ajay holds his position at the door, before he opens it. “Good bye, Pagan.”

Something still isn't adding up, and Pagan is _going_ to find out what it is.

*

Pagan spends all night making lists, the first list consisting of exactly what happened in the very first iteration he lived through. The original, and though it was the one that was the furthest from now, it was the one he remembered the clearest.

He keeps his thoughts to short, concise bullet points: Ajay did not eat the Crab Rangoon, and left with Sabal and the Golden Path. Ajay saved the Poppy Fields, but took down the Heroin Factory. He kidnapped Paul and handed him over to the Golden Path, and let Noore fall to her death in the arena. He killed Yuma, and blew up the golden statue – that wasn't important to remember but it was a sore point, the statue was solid fucking gold for godsake. He made it up to the Palace and refused to shoot Pagan, and died at Sabal's hands.

His second list is the things he changed for good, not specific to any one rotation: Crab Rangoons have not been served since round 58, when one of Naveen's more incompetent men shot both Paul and Ajay with an LMG. The sight of Ajay's blood mixing with the food had put him off the stuff for good. Another was: he'd stopped ordering Ajay to stay in his seat and have lunch. He'd started inviting him instead, and is no longer surprised when the boy leaves.

The third and last list is what has happened in this rotation, Round One-Hundred-Fifteen: Ajay did not stay for lunch (it was sushi, not Crab Rangoon), he escaped with Sabal. He also burned the Poppy Fields (who would give that boy a flamethrower, _honestly_!) and took down the Heroin Factory (almost died doing it too the idiot). Between those two moments, Pagan spoke to the Tarun Matara, and let Ajay see Lakshmana. Ishwari was laid to rest. He blew up the Paul's city but let him go back to the States instead of handing him over to the Golden Path. He somehow managed to stop Noore from committing suicide, and even convinced her to work for him. (Brilliant that, the boy is as good as his mother.) He escaped Durgesh, and now he's meant to kill Yuma.

He supposes he ought to make a television statement about her, but he'd much rather deal with Ajay in person.

Dawn is breaking over his balcony when he finishes his lists, and he's finally certain he can sleep when Naveen and Yuma burst into the room, the former swearing in Nepalise and the latter shouting at him in Cantonese.

“Really, guys? Do we not know what time it is?” Pagan drawls tiredly from behind his desk.

Yuma hisses at him, striding up to him and knocking into his shoulder. “You were the one to collect Ghale from the base of Durgesh!”

Pagan blinks at her, a bit nonplussed. “Well. Yes.”

With a screech of rage, she shoves at him again. “He's a terrorist! He's Mohan Ghale's son, the son of the man who ruined your _entire fucking life!”_

He's a little surprised, to be honest. Yuma was open in her idolatry of him but he'd never go so far as to label their bond as 'love'. When she cared, she usually showed that caring in the form of dead bodies or drugs. So, he arranges his face into something benign and a little condescending. “Ajay isn't his father, Yuma. You of all people should know how that feels.”

It's a low blow. He knows it's a low blow. She sits back a little, surprise in her eyes. “Fuck,” she says eloquently.

Pushing his fingers into his left eye, Pagan can't quite stop the encroaching headache. “Use your words, Yuma dear.”

“You're going to let him kill me,” she murmurs, sitting back on his desk. There's something in her expression that Pagan can't place, it might be hurt but just as easily it might be respect. “You're actually going to let me die to advance his place in the Golden Path,” she says, barely breathing.

“If I must,” Pagan responds evenly. “I'd be happier if you just went back to Hong Kong, but I know the likelihood of that happening is probably a big fat zero.” He reaches out for her hands, and she doesn't fight him when he links their fingers together.

She looks down at their hands. “You're in love with him.”

His neutral bland expression twists into irritation. “Fine. Yes. I am. But that doesn't matter, it's fucking irrelevant. When this is over, when the Golden Path infiltrates and destroys everything, I'll give him Kyrat, and I'll fly off into the sunset.”

“He's literally half your age,” Yuma shoots back. “You fucked his mother!”

With a noise of disgust, he lets go of her hands and shoves her off the desk. “I already said it was irrelevant! Now, make your choice _xiao mei_ , am I sending you to your death or am I putting you on a plane?”

She snarls at him, storming from the room. It's not an answer, but he'll know soon enough what her choice is. He glances over at Naveen who stands quietly by the door way. “I was just trying to keep her from disturbing you, boss,” he says, with gentle humor. “Get some sleep.”

Pagan snorts. “Oh, that's likely to happen now.” But he heads down the hall to his bedroom regardless. He keeps an emergency stash for exactly moments like this, cutting fine white lines against the glass of his table. Sleep will be even longer in coming, but he has too much to do, too many things to think about before he can rest.

Once the drugs hit his system, he feels much better – he really does. He reaches for the radio that he left on the bedside table, and ruthlessly silences the little voice in the back of his head telling him it's a bad idea to radio Ajay in the state he's in, and clicks the thing on.

“Ajay!” He cries into the radio, “I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of having a new suit made up for you. If you are to lead Kyrat when this is all over, you're going to need a sharper look than denims and fucking sneakers, my boy!”

“Hey!” Ajay barks, interrupting. “What's wrong with my sneakers?”

Pagan is momentarily drawn up short, because he's made the monologue about Ajay's clothes probably a hundred times and he's never interuppted before. “They're not very classy,” he says, doubtfully. “No one is going to take you seriously, a leader without the proper clothing. Does Sabal wear sneakers? No he does not!”

Ajay laughs, a little dry. “I can't say I've ever paid much attention to what's on his feet,” he answers. “But if I'm not paying attention to it, his footwear is probably pretty inoffensive.”

“Or you're blind,” Pagan says bluntly. “That's probably more likely.”

There's a slight pause before Ajay says, hesitant but amused, “... You're not going to tell me to be fierce, are you?”

The cheek of this boy! “If you've been talking to Mumu Chiffon and he hasn't gotten you out of those ghastly denims, he is not the man he once was!”

“Pagan!” Ajay hisses, sounding scandalized. “I'm not going to sleep with Mr. Chiffon!”

Since the thought sends a hot flash of anger through him, Pagan is actually pretty relieved by that. “Good. Don't. But seriously, those sneakers.”

Another pause, and Pagan wonders if Ajay's turned off his radio. “When was the last time you slept, Pagan?” Ajay finally asks, in lieu of responding about the sneakers.

“I don't even know, dear boy. A few days ago, maybe?” He shrugs to himself before laying back on his bed. “Some coke and caffeine and all's well, don't you worry your pretty little head about me.”

“Oh my god, Pagan, go to bed!” Ajay hisses into the radio. “No more coke! No more caffeine, you need to sleep.”

Pagan laughs a little, curling onto his side. “Don't worry so much, Ajay,” he says, “I've got a good few years left to me. I'm hardly about to expire if I don't sleep.”

Ajay makes a noise that's a cross between a snort and a groan. “Do it for me, then. Get some rest. I promise I won't blow anything up, or get shot until you wake up.”

“Can I hold you to that, darling? You won't blow up my gold statue, and I won't get any reports of your dying an untimely death?” Pagan yawns a little, curling up around the radio. He really is quite tired.

“I won't blow up your gold statue,” Ajay says soothingly. “And no reports.”

Pagan yawns again. “I suppose that's good enough. Come to dinner with me,” he invites on the tail end of another yawn. “Later today.”

Ajay pauses, and the sound of gunfire filters in through the open radio connection. “Yeah, okay, dinner. Radio me when you wake up, I have to go kill a bear.”

Half asleep already, Pagan nods into the pillow. “Awesome,” he mumbles. “Can't wait.”

If Ajay replies to that, he's too asleep to hear it.

*

He wakes up around eleven at night, arm asleep and feeling more exhausted than when he'd gone to bed. He also has the sneaking suspicion that he told someone he'd do something and didn't follow through. This is made all the more clear when he finally stumbles out of his bedroom, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, to find Naveen and Ajay sitting in his office drinking scotch.

“Well now this is a surprise,” Pagan drawls, leaning his hip on the door frame.

Ajay smirks up at him, leaning his cheek against the glass in his hand. “Someone promised me dinner.”

The conversation floods back to him and Pagan winces. “So I did.”

Naveen clears his throat, fidgeting, and twisting his fingers bitting into the tie at his neck. “I took the liberty of keeping the kitchen staff awake, I told them you had a late dinner meeting. You only need to call down and inform them.”

“You know,” Pagan says, meditative, “I'm beginning to wonder what I did without you, Naveen.”

The commander grins, putting down his empty glass. “Let's hope you never have to find out, boss. Good night.” He bows briefly, leaving them alone in the room.

Ajay ruffles the fringe of his hair, his gloves missing for once. “You slept for a while. I know I said I would wait until you called but...” He shrugs, unrepentant. “I got bored.”

Pagan drops into Naveen's empty seat, reaching for a fresh glass. “Sabal hasn't given you anything new to do? He's wasting your talent, he really is, dear boy.”

His eyes slide away, off to one side, and while the expression on his face never falters, it's fairly obvious that something is upsetting the boy. Sympathy is not something that Pagan has ever done well, but for Ajay, he'll try anything. So he moves forward, dropping to one knee on the floor and reaching out for his hand. “Ajay?” he prompts, almost gently.

“Sabal and I aren't seeing exactly eye to eye, right now.” Ajay relaxes under Pagan's touch. “I can't really blame him, he's spent his whole life working towards a goal and I fell into his country and fucked it all up.” Something in his face twists, and he focuses his eyes on a point just beyond Pagan's right shoulder. “He wants me to kill you.”

That's not really a surprise, even after their less than hostile conversation. “Of course he does. I effectively stole his country.”

But Ajay shakes his head, muscles tensing under Pagan's hands. “That isn't why. He's horror stricken over what Mohan did, the Tarun-- Bhadra is everything to him. But he told me I had to chose, you, or him.”

Another thing to add to the list.

At first, Pagan isn't sure how to respond to that. It's early on in the rotation to be planning his escape route, but for Ajay, he'll do it.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “What do you want to do, my boy?”

Ajay looks down at him, face unreadable. “I wish you'd show the rest of the world the man that's kneeling in front of me.”

Pagan laughs quietly, rising back to his feet in order to take his seat again. “Oh my dear boy, the man that kneels in front of you exists only _because_ of you.” He sighs, “I made this bed, Ajay. I do not regret it... but I do regret that Sabal is making you choose.” He pours himself a generous helping of the scotch, hiding his expression behind it. “Take Yuma.”

Frowning, Ajay puts down his own decanter, half empty and mostly untouched. “I uh, don't really want her?”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him, and Pagan shakes his head. “Well if the choice is down to Yuma or me, I'd much rather you pick me too. But that isn't exactly what I meant. In a few days, I'm making a statement, since I've not been seen in the general public for ages. I'll... let you know where Yuma is, and you can take her out which will hopefully appease Sabal.”

Ajay frowns, leaning back in his seat. “I've already taken care of Paul, and Noore. If I remove Yuma from the equation, then logically, you're next anyway.” His mouth thins out into a flat, unhappy line. “I suppose this is what I get for playing both sides of the fence.”

“I fear that was more my fault than yours, dear boy.” Pagan downs the alcohol, fingers trembling against the glass. He's trying to remember why it was so important to have Ajay on his side, when 'alive' was all he was originally trying for. The boy was clearly suffering, and for all his anger at him, Pagan never wanted that.

In the end, he's still missing Iswhari's solid presence behind his left shoulder, still missing the way she smiled. And Pagan is so very, very tired of no one ever choosing him. But he can't force Ajay into that decision, and he's not ready to find out what the answer is anyway.

Ajay chews on his lip, looking down at his lap. “Thanks for the drink, Pagan.”

And there's his answer.

Pagan stands, dropping the tumbler off at the edge of his desk. “I suppose that means I should start composing my speech then,” he says. “Something flashy, ear catching. Clearly, I need more coke for this.”

Downing most of his drink in one shot, Ajay grins at him, hazy and unafraid. “Bring it on?”

“That is a lovely concept, yes.” Pagan looks down at the computer screen, illuminating his expression. “She's my adoptive sister.”

Ajay's response is quiet. “I know.”

Pagan offers him a fond smile. “You should go back to the Homestead, darling. Get some sleep.”

Levering himself to his feet, Ajay returns the smile, taking a few steps forward and offering Pagan his hand. “Good night, Pagan.”

So Pagan takes his hand, expecting a firm handshake, or even a fist bump. He is definitely not expecting the rough hug he's pulled into. “Ajay?” he murmurs, allowing the hug but not quite returning it.

Ajay's grip tightens, briefly, beautifully. “Sorry,” the boy says. “Scotch goes straight to my head. And I didn't get dinner.” He stumbles backwards, just a little. “Looking forward to your speech, Pagan.”

Then the boy is gone, slipping out the door and disappearing.

Staring down at the document on his screen, Pagan is really tired of not being chosen by those he's had the misfortune of loving.

Maybe Yuma is right, and his love makes him weak.

*

Since he never sends Eric to Utkarsh, he never has to deal with pretending to be dead, and therefore there are no rumors of his death. He's done this speech enough times to have it memorized though, so it's an easy thing to modify it to something that fits this fucked up timeline.

He calls the press confrence, and when he stands on the dias, he knows that somewhere out there Ajay is listening. It gives him a stupid amount strength to know that this time, he has some semblence of control over his situation.

He smiles at the camera, and takes a deep breath. “Good people of Kyrat,” he greets. “I've called you here to talk to you about change. And I implore you, Kyrat, to look to my example, and see it as the positive influence it is. Change requires strength, and it is a stregnth I know you all possess. Now, I recently experienced change within my own organization. Miss Noore, and Paul de Pleur, after years of dedicated service have decided to move on.”

This particular sentence really amuses him, now that it's actually true. Paul had called him from the States, his family was overjoyed that he was home for the foreseeable future. And the sizable chunk of money he'd sent with him probably helped. And Noore, well, Naveen says that she's working out of her own clinic, mostly separate from the Golden Path.

“I'm sure you'll all join me in wishing them well in their future endeavors!” he adds brightly. “But, like them, we must look forward, not back. Lately, there have been attempts on my life but these attacks are only a symptom of resistance to change. Rest easy, though! Yuma Lau, my trusted commander in chief who oversees our mining operations at the...” He looks up, straight at the camera, and smiles a little, “KEO Facility, stands between me and any would be assassin.”

Not exactly true now, but functionally appropriate.

“She would rather die than see any harm come to me. Go ahead, I challenge you, put her resolve to the test. To summarize, change is good, embrace it! Your King is alive, rejoice! Yuma Lau stands like a sentinel, waiting.” He allows himself one bright genuine smile, winking at the camera. “Bring it on.”

He returns to the Royal Palace and waits. Pagan is not expecting to hear from Ajay for a good long while, and he's definitely not expecting the boy to swing up onto the palace balcony with that damn grappling hook. Ajay stumbles horribly, flinching in the light from the office. “I got her,” he murmurs dreamily. He almost tumbles into Pagan, his eyes wide and dilated and unresposive to the light of the lamps. “She wasn't expecting me to know she was there, but she's not as clever as she thinks she is.”

Pagan leads him to a chair, the same one he'd sat in drinking scotch and sharing smiles. “Are you injured?” he asks urgently.

Ajay's head lolls against Pagan's shoulder, but he manages to shake his head. “No. But when she fell, there was this powder. Everything is really... really... weird.” He frowns, rubbing at his face like a kitten. “But I wanted you to know first.”

Wincing, Pagan tugs Ajay to his feet. He knows what Yuma puts in her powders and poison. “Alright, come on, dear boy. Her tricks pack quite the punch, so to bed with you.”

He winces again when Ajay giggles, a high pitched sound. “So you want to take me to bed now?”

Pagan grunts. “I always want to take you to bed, darling,” he murmurs. “Let's go. Chop chop.”

Getting Ajay to walk is easy enough, but actually getting him to walk in the right direction is a lesson in futility. He flits from pillar to pillar, then back to Pagan to take his hands. “Sabal is going to be so angry if I don't check in tonight.”

He makes a disgusted noise, finally getting Ajay into his bedroom. “Sabal will wait.”

Ajay spins on his heel, digging his fingers into the silk fabric of Pagan's lapel. “He hates that you have my attention,” he says, conspiritorially. “That you're stealing me away.” He leans in, too close for comfort, “Sabal is a jealous man, you know.”

Pagan blinks, suddenly very alarmed. “Are you sleeping with Sabal?” he hisses, even as he walks Ajay backwards to his bed.

“Psh, _no_.” Ajay says, dropping back when his knees hit the edge of the mattress. “He's way too into Kyrat and Banashur, and religion. He's not into me. Calls me brother.”

Amused, Pagan peels off Ajay's gloves. “Kinky. Jacket, Ajay. You don't want to sleep in that, do you? Off, off.”

“Yeah, don't wanna sleep in my jacket. Too many zippers.” He sniggers, pressing his face into Pagan's arm. “For the record though, I don't keep my chunks of meat in my jacket. No matter how many zippered pockets. I've got a bag for that.”

“Sneakers, denims, bags of meat, Ajay what am I going to do with you?” Pagan asks absently, kneeling to pry off the sneakers he hates so much.

“You could kiss me,” Ajay murmurs, looking down at him with a gentle expression.

After his heart stops, Pagan makes himself smile up at the boy. “You're high as a kite, dear boy. Sleep it off.”

With a disgruntled exclamation, Ajay drops back onto the bed, still in his jacket. Eventually he struggles out of it, leaving him in a plain black shirt, tight across his arms and chest. “So you don't want me.”

Pagan presses his forehead to the inside of Ajay's knee. “Perhaps not when you're high off Yuma's particular cocktail. And perhaps when this is over.”

Ajay's hand, warm and without his gloves drops down to rest on Pagan's head. “Sabal is going to want me to kill Amita. But Amita is going to kill Bhadra, you know. She did it once. But if I kill Amita, Sabal murders half the Golden Path in front of her – Bhadra, not Amita. And it's always me,” Ajay murmurs, carding his fingers through Pagan's hair, completely unaware of how he's frozen, barely breathing. “And you help, sometimes. Sometimes you don't. I don't know why – Amita and Sabal always follow the same script.”

“Ajay,” Pagan breathes. “Ajay, you know?! You're aware? Ajay!” He raises up to lean over the boy but he only smiles briefly, eyes sliding closed into sleep.

This changes _everything_.

*

He keeps watch all night, making sure that Ajay stays hydrated and keeps everything down. Pagan eventually drops off in the chair by his bed around four in the morning, his heels on the edge of the bed and his chin resting on his chest.

A loud groan and the sound of several clatters wakes him, and he opens his eyes to blearily watch as Ajay slams into the bathroom adjacent to the bed to heave over the toilet. Though the smell is pervasive and turns his stomach, Pagan crouches behind Ajay and rubs his back through the worst of the shakes.

The poor boy coughs and spits, looking thoroughly miserable. “What the hell was that shit?” he rasps out, sounding like gravel is coating his throat, and possibly his stomach.

“Honestly, I couldn't tell you what Yuma puts in her shit. It's probably a good thing that you slept through most of it.” He nudges Ajay away from the toilet, leaning over it to flush away the sick, before helping the boy to his feet. “Come on, dear boy. Lay back down.”

He's pulling the covers back over Ajay's shivering form when the radio on top of Ajay's filthy jacket comes to life. “Ajay? Ajay! For Kyra's sake, will you answer me?”

As usual, Sabal ruins everything with his voice. Ajay makes grabbing motions for the radio and with a long-suffering sigh, Pagan reaches over and snags it, handing it off with only a small eye roll. “Sabal,” Ajay croaks, the radio creaks with how hard he grips it.

“Praise Kyra,” he whispers, the sound rushing over the line with a burst of static. “Are you okay?”

Ajay licks his lips, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I guess,” he answers, shivering harder with each word. “Yuma d-drugged me. I'm alright though, just sick.”

There's a pause and Sabal says, voice fraught with worry, “Where are you? I'll come get you.”

Looking faintly alarmed, Ajay shakes his head and says, “Don't bother. I'm in a belltower, I uh, must have wandered around a bit after killing her. When I'm not puking my guts up, I'll check my GPS, but until then I just need to lay here and regret my entire life leading up to this moment,” he mutters.

“Are you certain?” Sabal asks, and Pagan has to hand it to him, the amount of concern and caring the man manages to inject in his words is actually sort of impressive.

Ajay's lip twitches into something that wants to be a smile. “I'm – uh. I'll call you back.” He tosses the radio to the bedside and bolts for the bathroom again, tripping and nearly falling twice.

As Ajay chokes and coughs in the other room, Pagan calls down to the kitchen and has ginger tea with honey sent up, as well as a few slices of buttered bread. He keeps half an eye on Ajay, who had stoppped throwing up after the first few tries, but remained sitting on the floor, his forehead pressing against the rim. From his position near the door, Pagan can see the labored rise and fall of Ajay's chest, which is comforting.

A servant brings up the tray and a bucket, a wry twist to her lips and a belly heavy with child. “Thank you,” Pagan says, surprised. He takes the tray and hooks the bucket over his arm. “How far along are you?”

The woman blinks at him, slow, confused, before answering. “Nearing eight months,” she murmurs, dropping her hand down to cover her belly, an affectionate mothering gesture Pagan remembers from when Ishwari carried Lakshmana. “I drank that exact tea when the sickness hit, I thought you may need the bucket as well.”

Hearing another heart wrenching heave and the sound of liquid hitting water makes them both flinch. “Your foresight is appreciated,” he says. “Take the rest of the day.”

The surprised confusion on her face melts away to be replaced with absolute awe. “Thank you, my King,” she whispers.

Ajay takes that moment to gag and choke loudly and Pagan spares a quick smile for the servant before rushing back towards the bathroom. Ajay is groping for the handle on the toilet and missing by at least a foot so Pagan reaches over and flushes it for him. “Alright, come on, Ajay. Back into bed with you.”

In lieu of a response, Ajay tightens his arms around the toilet bowl.

Sighing loudly, Pagan rattles the bucket. “I have a bucket for you, in case you sick up again, now you'll be far more comfortable on the bed and I have something to help your stomach. Come on.”

Grumbling, Ajay lets himself be lifted and moved, though he makes it most of the way under his own power. He drinks the tea enthusiastically, draining it in a few sips but refuses the bread. Ajay spends the next few seconds hunting through the blankets for radio. He clicks it back on and says, quietly, “Sorry about that, Sabal.”

There are a few seconds where there's no response, and Pagan makes himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, toeing off his shoes to sit cross legged in front of Ajay. There's a burst of sound from the radio and Sabal hissing angrily at whoever made the noise, “Yes, it's Ajay, and yes he is fine, now shut up!” he's saying and Ajay chuckles hoarsely. Another brief pause and then Sabal says, “everything okay, brother?”

“Sure,” Ajay says dryly, “Just didn't want to puke on the radio, you know?”

Sabal snorts, the sound accompanied by an echo. He's clearly not alone in the room. “Well, Amita and I are eagerly awaiting your return, so take care of yourself.”

“Uh huh,” Ajay agrees. “This is just the hangover from hell, that's all. Don't worry about me, Sabal.”

“I always worry about you, brother,” Sabal murmurs, and the sound of his voice brings a slight flush to Ajay's cheeks.

He coughs, awkwardly, and mutters, “yeah, well, I'm fine. I'll sleep some more and then head to...” he clicks off the radio, looking up at Pagan, “What's the closest outpost to the mine?”

Pagan chews on his lip, thinking about it. “Probably the KEO area itself, the Pradhana mine. It's maybe a click away?”

Ajay nods once, turning the radio back on, “I'll head back the way I came, get to the Pradhana outpost. You can meet me there tomorrow morning, okay?”

Sabal's response is so full of relief that even Pagan can hear it. “Yes. I'll meet you there. Be safe, brother.”

“You too, Sabal.” Ajay puts the radio on the bedside table, then turning his gaze back to Pagan. “Thanks.”

“Don't worry your pretty head, dear boy. It's the least I could do.” He reaches over for the tea pot, pouring another cup. “I'm no stranger to hangovers and their ilk.”

The boy smirks a little, taking the cup from Pagan. “Yeah, coke and caffeine. I remember.”

“Indeed.” Pagan eyes Ajay, and while he looks miserable and too pale to make him entirely comfortable, Pagan cannot wait another minute to find out what the boy meant. “We need to talk, dear boy.”

Ajay goes even paler at his words and his fingers visibly tighten on the cup of tea. “Oh god,” he mutters, “what did I do?”

Frowning, Pagan leans forward a little to look Ajay in the eye. “You don't remember?”

His eyes sliding away from Pagan's, Ajay purses his lips, chewing on the inside of one of them in thought, Mohan's frown heavy on his brow. “No.. Well. I don't remember getting here, I do remember you trying to get me out of my jacket and we talked about bait. But I don't remember much beyond that.”

Nodding, Pagan agrees. “That happened, but... you also said something really very interesting.” He leans his elbows on his knees, catching Ajay's gaze with his own. “You said that Sabal and Amita were going to make you chose, not too long ago. Last night you expanded on that, you said if you were to choose Amita, she'd kill Bhadra, but if you were to choose Sabal, he murders half the Golden Path in front of the girl.” With every careful word, Ajay hunches his shoulders, sinking into the bed and blankets, dragging his eyes from Pagan's, and hiding behind his tea cup. “You also mentioned me, you said that I helped, sometimes, but that Sabal and Amita followed a script, and I did not.”

Ajay sniffs once, eyes suddenly over bright and glassy. “Must have been some hallucination I had then,” he says, a false note of cheer in his tone, which does nothing to hide the fact that it's shaking.

“Well, I found it compelling, certainly,” Pagan says. “Considering that if neither of us wish to remain here, another me and another Mohan Ghale are exactly what this country doesn't need.” He offers Ajay a gentle smile, or at least, one as gentle as he can make it. “But that's not why I found it so interesting...”

“It was _just a hallucination,_ okay Pagan?” Ajay snaps, ducking his head down.

“... Considering I've lived your death a hundred and fifteen times.”

 

*tbc


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you love something, let it go. If it loves you in return, it will come back.
> 
> Pagan has never been a fan of waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the half way mark, parts 4-6 will be from Ajay's point of view. 
> 
> Sorry not sorry.

PART THREE - PAGAN

Ajay freezes, not a single muscle moving. Even his hands, which he couldn't keep from shaking not five minutes before were still in his lap. The only movement is two tears dropping to the blankets, mostly hidden by his hair and bowed head. “... _What_?”

“Since the only thing we've done differently this time around is lay your mother to rest, I was panicked that you'd died after the heroin factory, you know.” Pagan takes the tea cup from him, before it can tip over and spill all over the place. “But all things considered, I think this one's gone the best, don't you?”

Slowly, Ajay raises his gaze to meet Pagan's, and the amount of pain swimming in his eyes is staggering. “You know. You've known. Why didn't you say anything?!”

Pagan snorts, endlessly fond. “Oh, and it's so believable, you wouldn't have written me off as high as shit and dismissed me?”

“Of course I wouldn't! I remember too!” Ajay lurches forward and reaches for Pagan, wrapping freezing fingers around his.

Wrapping his fingers around Ajay's in return, Pagan drops his eyes to look at their clasped hands. “Well no, in light of that, but after the first few times, I wouldn't have had any idea, would I? Besides, you generally do as you please, dear boy.”

Ajay's fingers tighten painfully on Pagan's. “I died eighty percent quicker when I simply followed you home Pagan. I decided to take my chances with the Golden Path. It... took a while to forgive them though, knowing that Sabal could so easily shoot me in the back? It was really hard to forgive him for that and he hasn't even done it yet.”

“That explains why you saved Noore and Paul,” Pagan murmurs.

He nods. “And I think you're right... with mom at rest, if I die for any reason, I think I'm out of chances. I don't know what caused this... if it was Kyra, or Banashur, or Yalung. But whoever did it... I think their good will is at an end.”

The thought is more terrifying now than it ever has been.

“Then what are you going to do?” Pagan asks, a little wary, a little unhappy.

Ajay sighs, releasing Pagan's hands. “I can't bring the three of you together, but I can bring them together. Let me try, and... then, then we leave. You first, and then I'll... go home to California.”

It's less than ideal, but then again, Pagan was planning on escaping the country and leaving it to Ajay in the first place. But without Ishwari, without Ajay, hell even without Yuma, it's going to be a very lonely rest of his life. So, Pagan withdraws, slipping off the bed, and collecting the tea set. “As the King commands,” he says, gently mocking.

Instead of laughing it off, or even simply smiling at him, Ajay frowns harder. “What's wrong?”

 _So many things._ But Pagan shakes his head, leaning over Ajay to kiss his temple. “Nothing, dear boy. Get some sleep, I'll wake you in the morning.”

When he pulls away, Ajay's mouth is set in a mullish pout that's all Ishwari, and it makes him smile to see it. He takes the tray away, stopping at the door to look over at the boy again. “Pagan?” Ajay murmurs, and there's a note of... something ... in his voice that Pagan simply cannot place. “I'm sorry about Yuma.”

He nods, reflexively. “Me too,” he says. “Good night, my boy.”

Pagan isn't too ashamed to admit that he escapes the room, and while he doesn't run down the hall, his retreat is anything but leisurely. He leaves the tea set on a table somewhere and hunts down another stash of coke.

If he's going to to be saying good bye to the boy, he's doing it medicated or he isn't doing it at all.

*

Ajay finds him in the library come dawn, and a full nights rest has done wonders for his pallor. Pagan gives him a brief smile, rising from the chair he'd curled up in around four. “I was going to wake you shortly, seems you're as prompt as ever,” he drawls, throwing an arm around the boys shoulders. “You look much better, I must say.”

“You don't,” Ajay says bluntly. “Did you sleep at all?”

“This again?” Pagan complains. “No. But that's because some sick little bastard took my bed without so much as a thank you, so unless you were waiting for me to come crawling into bed beside you, I found accomodations elsewhere.”

Ajay slings an arm around his waist, which briefly gives Pagan some pause, but when Ajay just laughs softly, pulling him in for a sort of hug, he relaxes. “That was your room? I should have known. Thank you, then.”

Pagan sniffs once, knocking their temples together. “Think nothing of it, darling.”

“Is the outpost far from here?” Ajay asks as they make their way to the courtyard.

“A fair bit. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes. Maybe.” Pagan snorts, opening the door to the sunrise. “I wouldn't know, I usually travel by helicopter.”

Off to the side of the driveway is an ATV, banged up and tipped on to one side, clearly a relic of Ajay's drug assisted flight from Yuma's mining operation. “That must be me,” he says sheepishly. “I'll radio you in a few days, okay?”

Pagan nods, gazing at the vehicle with undisguised revulsion. “Of course. Once you're ready, return here, I'll bring you to the New Dehli airport myself.”

Ajay smiles, and he lets go of Pagan, a somewhat sheepish expression overtaking his face. “Thanks.” He heads over to the ATV, nudging it over with one foot. “Wish me luck?” he calls over, raising his voice to be heard.

The coke or the sun or the fucking halo around his head limns Ajay in golden light and Pagan can only stare for a moment before he manages to find his smile from somewhere. “Luck, dear boy,” he calls back, and he means it. He also means wo ai ni, but that one he manages not to say.

Ajay zooms off in the stolen ATV and Pagan heads back towards his office, making plans and discarding them just as quickly. “Naveen!” he shouts, “Gary!”

The two appear almost simultaneously, and Gary scowls at Naveen and mutters something in Japanese that no one else understands. “What do you need, boss?” Naveen translates.

“Open up the Lakshmana account, and have it put in my Kyrati one,” he murmurs. “I'll deal with the rest.”

Over the next week and a half, he gets his affairs in order, just like every other time the rotations have gotten this far. For the first time, he considerings his shrine to Lakshmana, and settles for taking two vials of the ashes inside the shrine, already planning on having another shrine wherever he ends up.

He has his accountants make a few discreet calls, and transfers the entirety of the Lakshmana account into Ajay's bank. He packs very little, clothing can be replaced and while nothing will fit quite like a custom Mumu Chiffon, there are good tailors everywhere, he'll manage in the interim.

All that's left is the waiting.

(He hates waiting.)

Almost another week passes before Ajay appears on his doorstep again. He has a spectacular black eye, all his things and a rueful expression. Pagan stands in the doorway, studying him before opening the door way the rest of the way and allowing him into the bedroom.

“Didn't go so well, I take it?” Pagan asks once Ajay has dropped his backpack and installed himself in a chair.

Mouth twisting before flattening into a thin line, Ajay merely shakes his head, staring down at the table. “The black eye is from Amita,” he admits. “I uh, may have accused her of turning into another you.”

Even Pagan has to wince at that, and he joins Ajay at the table. “But you were successful?”

He nods shallowly. “Yeah, I guess. I told them that the law very clearly states that Bhadra should take the throne of Kyrat once you were gone, and Sabal tried to tell me that as the son of the last Tarun Matara I should take the throne first.” Ajay tilts his head back to rest on the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “Apparently they were both incredibly confused that I didn't want any countries, or kingships or thrones.”

“That's because you have no sense of taste or flair, my boy,” Pagan drawls mildly.

Ajay snorts, rolling his head to look over at Pagan. “You have enough of both for at least six people, your opinion does not count.”

Laughing softly, Pagan stands and heads to the mini bar to pour them both some scotch. “Perhaps not,” he agrees, handing over the glass. “But it takes more than both to run a country.”

Taking a sip of the drink, Ajay's amused expression fades away into something far more melancholic, and he looks up at Pagan over the rim of the decanter. “So, what happens now?” he asks.

“Well,” Pagan says slowly, leaning his hip against the edge of the bar, “tomorrow morning we'll helicopter out of here to New Delhi, where you'll fly back to California, and I'll go my own way.”

Ajay's eyes slide away from Pagan's, focusing on some nebulous point near his left elbow. “That soon?”

A flash of bitter regret fills his chest, and Pagan drains his glass in one go as an answer to it. “I've found after a hundred or so dealings with your Golden Path, that speed is the better part of valor, and if you don't mind, I have enough of your blood on my hands.”

Ajay winces, his expression crumbling. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I know what you mean.”

There's a wealth of words between them, Pagan's growing feelings, Ajay's attraction; it stretches between them, silent and waiting. But Pagan is old enough to know better and has been hurt enough to be content with his lot.

“Well,” he manages to say brightly, “it's late. Are you hungry? We can get dinner.”

After a pause, Ajay nods slowly, offering Pagan a shy smile. “Crab rangoon?”

Offering Ajay a hand up, Pagan curls his fingers around the boy's, squeezing gently. “For you, dear boy? Anything.”

They take dinner on the veranda, over looking the road down into the valley where they Fortress is. The kitchen brings them nearly endless curried rice and chicken, crab rangoon, and whatever else Pagan randomly orders, enjoying the delighted pleasure on Ajay's face with each new food stuff introduced to the table.

Pagan drinks too much wine, but Ajay joins him, glass for glass. “Boy,” Pagan berates severely, even as he pours them both new portions of the wine, “you're going to be sick in the morning, and I'm not going to coddle you with tea and toast this time, I'm really not. You, my dear, are on your own.”

“Ha!” Ajay throws a roll at Pagan's head and misses spectacularly, which makes him frown down at the basket like it's done him personal wrong. “I've been drinking since I was fifteen, wine is practically like water to me! I bet you'll have a worse hangover than I will.”

Amused, Pagan tips his glass in Ajay's direction. “I'm not crazy enough to take that bet, darling, considering I'm literally twice your age.”

Rolling his eyes, Ajay snags the wine bottle and dumps the rest of what remains in his glass, nearly filling it to over full. “Psh,” he scoffs, “Like _that_ matters.”

“Still not taking that bet,” Pagan says with a chuckle. “Besides, you seem to have finished all the wine.”

Tugging his still mostly full glass closer to him as though Pagan would steal it, Ajay trails a finger around the rim of it, making it hum a low tone that resonates through the silence between them. “Will you...” he begins to say, before trailing off.

He's quiet for so long that Pagan eventually nudges him in the arm with his butter knife.”Will I what?” he asks, a touch impatient.

Ajay blinks, then shakes his head. “Nothing,” he finishes. “Just thinking. What do you think mom would think seeing us like this?”

Pagan is a hundred percent certain that Ajay was not going to say that originally, but he's more or less willing to play along. “Oh, she'd probably be flapping her hands at us and scolding us in two different languages about overindulgence and that you're her little boy, and 'Pagan, _really_ , must you' which I didn't think I would miss until it was gone.” He puts on a slightly higher pitch, quoting Ishwari exactly whenever he'd forget himself and bring out his drugs when she was around.

“Fuck,” Ajay says with feeling, eyes rounded and staring. “You sounded exactly like her, holy shit,” he explains, taking a large fortifying swallow of wine. “That was incredibly creepy.”

Grinning, Pagan finishes his own glass of wine, setting it and his plate aside. “Thank you, dear boy. I heard it often enough in the past to have it actually imprinted on my brain.” When Ajay grins back, Pagan has to drag his eyes away and he has a moment to be glad that the wine is gone because much more and he's going to do something stupid, like declare his love or kiss the boy and neither are acceptable outcomes when they're going their separate ways in the morning. He stands, running his hands through his hair. “Alright, Ajay. We have an early start. May as well get some rest while we can.”

A flash of something goes across Ajay's face, might be disappointment, might be confusion, either way Pagan can't read it. “Yeah,” he mutters, humor draining from his tone. “Of course.”

He finishes the wine, probably too quickly judging how he sways when he stands but Ajay leaves the table without help or stumbling. “You can stay in the room across from mine,”Pagan offers, and Ajay just nods in response.

They walk there, side by side, without speaking and Pagan would give the south of Kyrat to know what the boy is thinking. “Thanks,” Ajay says, once they've arrived at the door. “Night, Pagan.”

Thankfully, Ajay disappears inside quickly so there's none of that awkward loitering, but Pagan is disappointed despite himself.

It will be good to get out of the country, that's never been in question. But it will be torture to let the boy go, and if he's being honest with himself, Pagan isn't really sure he'll survive the ordeal. He barely survived Ishwari leaving, after all.

 _I went inside, and came out... this_ , he'd said.

It remains true a second time.

  
*

They meet at the helicopter in the middle of the courtyard, just after sunrise, and Ajay – true to his word – looks like he slept fabulously and has suffered no ill effects from the wine. Naveen, Gary, and Eric meet them there and Ajay eyes Eric with incredible suspicion. “That's never not going to be weird,” he comments.

Eric laughs, and holds out a hand for the boy to shake. “Eric,” he introduces, using his normal voice. “And don't worry, I'm only here to see the boss off, I'm catching a different plane later.”

Ajay glances between the two and shakes his head. “Well, good luck?” he asks.

Naveen pulls Pagan aside as the two chat, and he looks a little sad. “This is good bye, boss,” the faithful commander says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm sticking around here to round up the last of the army. We'll clear out in a few weeks, so this is the last time you'll see me.”

Pagan smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thank you for all you do, Naveen,” he murmurs. “You were invaluable to me. Good luck.”

Gary is the only other one to get on the helicopter with them, but he very obviously stares out the window, giving them as much space as humanly possible. “Your flight is at ten, local time,” Pagan comments, handing over the printed ticket.

“When is yours?” Ajay asks curiously, folding the ticket in between the pages of his passport.

In point of fact, Pagan has no earthly clue, and he's forced to squint at the page briefly before answering. “Later,” he says, “Three in the afternoon.”

Ajay nods slowly, and that's definitely disappointment on his face. “Where are you going?” he asks, hesitantly, like he's expecting Pagan not to answer.

“London, for now. I schooled there, you know. My father sent me to boarding school so I could learn English.” He smiles a little, staring down at the ticket. “I have fond memories of the place.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Ajay asks quietly, looking up and catching Pagan's gaze with steel in his eyes.

Pagan's heart clenches in his chest, skipping a full beat before he can find the air to answer. Letting Ishwari go was the hardest thing he's ever done, sending Ajay away is crippling him. “Do you want to?” he asks, instead of answering at first. But surprisingly, the boy nods without hesitation and Pagan's heart thaws out a little more. “Then, yes, dear boy. You'll see me again.”

Sitting back and looking satisfied, Ajay nods once, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Good.”

That's all they say on the subject, and the rest of the ride passes quietly. They clear the mountains into India and no missiles, rockets, or RPGs finds their way towards them, much to Pagan's relief. He'd really gotten sick of being shot out of the sky – it always came as such a surprise.

With the comfortable silence, he's able to turn his thoughts inward, thinking of the long flight to London with only Gary by his side. He'd grown used to Naveen, who'd started out as a simple commander that had the misfortune of being a messenger, and the last time he'd flown anywhere it had been into Kyrat with Yuma at his side.

Now he leaves his legacy behind to two of the people who'd made his life supremely difficult. It would be hard to find another place like Kyrat to sustain him.

And Ajay would be flying home alone, back to a world that was 'normal'. He'd left all his guns behind, and Pagan knows that reintegrating into a world that doesn't require him to fight for his survival will be difficult. He'll face the same problems, after all.

Ajay will be fine though, he's still young and resilient and all those other things Paul's stupid self-help books say you are when you're still twenty.

The flight passes quickly, and it's too soon when they walk up to the departure gate for California. Ajay drops his things on a nearby chair before turning to face Pagan. “That was the fastest I've ever been through customs before in my life,” he comments with a sly grin.

“Yes well, it's good to be king,” Pagan replies, amused. “Do you have enough money for the return?”

Waving him off, Ajay makes a face. “Yeah, yeah, I made a ton just selling random shit to sherpas. I have enough to convert into US dollars so I can buy a new phone when I land.”

Pagan nods. “Good.” There isn't really much more that he can say to that, and he glances over at the departure board. They'd timed it well, Ajay will only have to wait about an hour before he can get on the plane, and first class always goes first.

“Besides, I'm looking forward to telling the iPhone representative that I need a new phone because my last one got stepped on by an elephant,” Ajay's saying, pulling out the flattened mangled corpse of what used to be a mobile phone.

“Is that what happened to it?” Pagan asks curiously. “I wondered, since I tried calling you after the Factory incident.”

Ajay snorts a laugh, tucking the garbage away. “Yeah, I sort of dropped it when I was fleeing the scene of the crime.”

The gate is starting to fill up with people, trickling here and there from various directions, and that many people around him makes Pagan a trifle nervous, he only has Gary for protection now. Another thing that will take getting used to.

So he holds out a hand, offering it to Ajay. “I have a few last things to do, dear boy,” he murmurs, “so I wish you all the luck in the world, and I'll leave you to it.”

Another flash of something Pagan can't read skates across Ajay's face, but the boy takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “Good bye,” he says softly. “Thanks for everything.”

Thinking of that one rotation where Pagan himself was the man who murdered Ajay, he winces, shaking his head. “No need to thank me, darling. But you're welcome, all the same.” He takes a step back, and then another. “Be fierce, Ajay,” he says, a mocking edge to his voice.

“Ugh!” Ajay spins around to root in his bag. “Don't be a stranger.”

With Ajay's back to him, it's much easier to turn around, and he walks away, feeling the invisible thread between them stretch to a breaking point. It isn't until he's at the next gate over that he turns back to look, and finds Ajay's watched his departure.

There's a wealth of information on his face now as the distance between them becomes clear, and Ajay's face visibly has crumpled. Even with the yards of space between them, Pagan can see his chest rising and falling with heaving breaths.

The devastation is there for anyone with eyes to look.

_Fuck it._

Pagan pivots on his heel, striding back to Ajay with a purpose. If it's to be good bye, he's making it fucking count. Ajay's wiped his expression clean but it's too late, Pagan's seen it, Pagan knows now. He invades Ajay's personal space deftly, staring down at the blank eyed confusion and he crushes their lips together.

Ajay's stiff as Pagan hauls him close with his fingers hooked in Ajay's threadbare belt loops, pressing them together nose to navel. A heartbeat of time, and then he's throwing his arms around Pagan's neck and kissing back.

With such an enthusiastic response, Pagan devours Ajay's kiss, licking into his mouth and tangling their tongues together. He grabs the back of Ajay's neck, tilting his head and angling their lips together to deepen the kiss, pressing his fingers into the pressure point at the base of his skull.

Ajay's groan tears through him, and he drags his mouth away to stare down at him. The boy chases his kiss briefly before pressing another one of his own against Pagan's lips. Ajay's mouth is red, swollen, and lush under his goatee, and Pagan can't help but return the kiss.

He keeps it gentle, pulling away after a moment and opening his eyes. “Be safe,” he murmurs, leaving another kiss at the corner of Ajay's lips.

Ajay licks his lips, then digs his teeth into his lower lip, staring up at Pagan. “Don't forget me,” he responds.

“Never,” Pagan promises.

He backs away slowly, still feeling the imprint of Ajay's mouth against his own. It's not enough – he knew it wasn't going to be enough when he did it. But it will do.

For now.

Later, when he gets on the plane to London, he'll run his fingers over the pen Ishwari had given him, and thank her for the love she'd given him twice.

Someday, he'll go to California and knock on Ajay's door and they can get the reunion they deserve. For now though, he has other plans.

He has a life to rebuild.

*tbc


	4. iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajay's side of the story is a litle different, but if anyone (Kyra, Banashur, hello out there!) is listening, he'd like to stop dying now please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Obviously this goes very AU from game canon, so things happen out of order in some places.)
> 
> Also, please be aware there's some suicidal ideation in this - nothing overt or obvious, just Ajay growing used to the world reseting when he dies, so used to it in fact, that dying has become an easier thing to handle than pain. But it's very slight and shouldn't be too much of a concern.
> 
>  
> 
> Another warning: I have no beta! And most of this was written on a tablet that for some reason doesn't have a spell check function. Come on AndrOpenOffice, seriously? Ugh. I promise English is my first language (let's be honest, it's my only language) and I'm really not a terrible speller. I also works the graveyard shift. Please don't laugh at me too hard.

PART FOUR - AJAY

 _it's a lifelong expedition_  
_Second guessing your decisions_  
_Try to find out what's been missing_  
_And the pages keep on filling_

 

His hands go numb first. He's been in Kyrat for three months, and he's taken out his mother's ashes countless times in those months, but his hands have never fumbled. So, when the urn slips from his grasp to fall in a flurry of ash and regret, the pain in his heart overwhelms the pain in his back. Pagan shrieks something behind him but all Ajay can do is stumble to his knees, reaching out for the ashes.

That's when the blood registers, sliding down his gloves to drip and clump in the dust in front of him. Slowly, he looks up to see Sabal standing a few feet away, a smoking gun in his hands. There's nothing left of his friend, the man who sat by his bedside after Durgesh, nothing but flat, cold, searing anger.

Ajay slumps backwards into Pagan, he can hear the other man talking, begging him, but everything sounds like he's underwater. He can't take his eyes off Sabal's, even the pain is a distant thing to the cold in his chest.

He's betrayed Sabal enough times to know that this is no less than he deserves. Sorry mom, he thinks, and lets the darkness pull him away with Pagan's tears thick in his ears.

Blissfully, he's unaware of nothing for a time, before he opens his eyes to find himself on the bus, a monkey trying to climb into his lap and Darpan – a dead man – staring him in the eyes.

_What._

When Darpan asks for his passport, Ajay hands it over numbly, because he's reasonably sure he's already done this before. The soliders stop the bus, and he passes his paperwork over, pushing the monkey out of the way before it can reach for his things, before his owner can reprimand it.

Ajay braces himself for the gunshots, tenses the muscles of his abdomen in preparation to fling himself to the floor of the vehicle. It never comes, the solider tucks away the passports, which chases the last of his adrenaline away with a wave of indignation.

“Everyone off the bus,” one of the soldiers shouts so Ajay files off with the others, dodging the monkey again.

Without the blood and terror, it seems to take an incredible amount of time for Pagan Min's helicopter to arrive, and Ajay's ready to shrug off the eerie sense of deja-vu as a really vivid dream when the man himself climbs out of his aircraft dressed in the pink monstrosity Ajay knows so well.

Pagan immediately beelines for him, throwing his arms around Ajay's shoulders for a warm, weird, hug. Ajay goes stiff, he can't help it – in the dream, in the... the hallucination, Pagan had been his enemy - and he holds himself still until Pagan lets go.

“Ajay Ghale,” Pagan says warmly, his smile bright and seemingly genuine. “It's good to see you again, my dear boy.”

_Okay, what?_

He backs away from Pagan and his particular brand of crazy, frowning fiercely. He's never met this man before in his life, how does he know his name? His mother never mentioned Min, never mentioned anything about Kyrat in all his life. “Uh,” he says, still stiff and confused, “who are you?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tightening his fingers in his jacket under his arms where the motion is hidden.

Maybe the man isn't actually named Pagan, maybe it's something else, something normal, maybe he made up the name in his dream/hallucination/break from reality.

The man looks a bit injured at the question, and he blinks at Ajay for a few seconds before he answers. “Pagan Min,” he says, with the air of one unused to needing an introduction.

 _Fuck_.

“King, actually, but we can do away with that for now, though. See,” the King of Kyrat says gently, “I knew your mother.”

_Oh shit._

Ajay lets his arms fall to his sides, turning to face Pagan, studying his face and eyes. “You said it was... good to see me again,” he says quietly. “When did you last see me?” Could Pagan know about his dream? If Pagan knows about the dream, then it can't be a dream.

But, stable time loops are only in science fiction. This cannot be happening to him. Maybe that's why his mother left Kyrat, it turns people fucking insane.

Pagan smiles at him, and it takes years off his face. “You were two years old when Ishwari took you to America,” he answers easily. “I... helped raise you, for a time.”

 _Oh_.

“That was twenty years ago,” Ajay says. He's seen his baby pictures okay? His mother never hesitated to take them out when he brought his boyfriends home, he looks a lot different now.

“You look like your mother,” Pagan responds, a trace of sadness in his gaze. “Now come, join me for lunch. We can talk more then.”

He opens the helicopter door himself, obviously giving Ajay some time to consider his request, and then he turns and offers him a hand. Since the last time he did this, he'd been shoved roughly by two guards and treated to a black bag intervention, this is much more preferable.

So, crazy or not, he takes Pagan's hand and gets on the helicopter with him.

“Where is Lakshmana?” Ajay asks to fill the silence. “I looked on a map but I couldn't find it.” They'd not gotten this far in their conversation before Sabal had interrupted permenantly, so Ajay is eager to hear what he missed.

Pagan's mouth twists, old pain visible in the lines of his mouth. “Lakshmana isn't a place, dear boy. She's a who.”

Ajay gazes at Pagan, surprised. “Who was she then?” he asks, gentle.

“Your sister,” he answers. “Well, your half-sister. She... died. When she was only a year old, not long after your second birthday.”

_Oh, shit._

“Half-sister? Then you... and... my mother?” Ajay has some trouble wrapping his mind around that. He'd read a few of his father's journals – oh fuck, what if Mohan Ghale wasn't actually his father? Everything else in his life has been a lie, why not that?

Pagan hands him a pen. Ajay blinks down at it stupidly, eyes tracing the words engraved there. I love you – Ishwari.

“I cannot pretend to understand what happened between your mother and father, dear boy,” Pagan explains, expression serious. “I am not a good man, nor am I a kind one. But Ishwari Ghale made me better, for a time.” He takes the pen back, one finger tracing the letters there. “I loved her desperately, and when the time came, I let her go. I supposed... I always hoped that one day, she'd come back.”

Ajay can't claim to have a photographic memory, and he'd done enough drugs to truly screw up his short term memory but he's really, really certain his mother never mentioned any of this. “She did,” Ajay murmurs, choking out a bitter laugh.

In the years prior to Ishwari's illness, Ajay had done every thing he could get his hands on, and nothing had ever made him feel as out of control as this. Drugs didn't make him crazy, as his friends were so fond of telling him – Kyrat did that in ten minutes or less. He squeezes his mother's urn, offering her another silent apology, bringing his total up to sixty five.

Pagan watches him, a knowing look in his eyes and a half smile on his lips. “So she did. Funny how karma can be a complete and utter bitch.”

He doesn't remember Pagan being funny. So he smiles, because if he's going crazy at least he can do it style. “Yeah,” he agrees simply. “Exactly.”

He's aware that Pagan is watching him, but he keeps his eyes on his mother's urn, instead trying to catalog what he can remember from the first go-around. Pagan's already offered him lunch but since no one got shot at and Darpan isn't with them (and that's another name he shouldn't know, right?) he's not sure what's actually going to happen next.

Though he's pretty certain there will be crab rangoon, and if there's no one screaming and being tortured maybe he'll actually get to eat some.

Thankfully, Pagan simply sits him down – he doesn't take the urn, he doesn't lick the ashes, he just offers him the table. “Enjoy,” he says simply, and begins eating as well.

Since there's obviously no need to stand on ceremony, Ajay eats. He's not exactly hungry, but there were a lot of nights out in the mountains where there just wasn't enough, and he'd gone to sleep in a rickety bell tower with nothing but a canteen of plastic warmed water and memories of pizza to tide him over until he could get back to a Monastery or Banapur.

So he eats everything in front of him, just in case he's forced to flee, and though Paul is no where to be seen, he knows this is de Pleur's fortress, since he'd been the one to liberate the thing in the original time line.

With a sudden clatter, Pagan puts down his fork, and picks up his glass. “So,” he says, from behind the rim, “Let me show you Lakshmana.”

Ajay's a little relieved, to be honest. The food is delicious, and the company isn't even half bad, but he's starting to feel a bit skittish, like someone is watched him from the shadows. The feeling has saved his life more than once out in the wild, with stalking tigers and leopards.

They stand together and Pagan gestures to a familiar door. He places his hand low on Ajay's back, which should feel weird but instead feels secure and warm. He's still puzzling out why Pagan touching him doesn't make him crawl out of his skin, when there's a rumble and boom that echoes down the long hall they're walking.

Memory tells him it's a mortar, and there's a hot flash of fear along his side where he once sported some fairly bad burn scars because of an Imperial mortar blast. He's pretty sure that if he were to check now though, the only thing left of that blood tinged memory is the lingering fear, because his skin would be smooth and unblemished.

There's some shouting from below them and Ajay glances over at Pagan who winces, expression crumpling. “I did mention the terrorists, didn't I?” he asks.

He didn't, actually, but Ajay isn't surprised to know they're attacking. Darpan had seen his passport after all.

Ajay's grip on his mother's urn tightens. He's not going to drop her again. “Now what?”

Pagan touches him again, this time at the shoulder to gently turn him back the way they came. “I'm sure the Royal Army has things well in hand,” Pagan is saying, “we'll wait until Paul gives the all clear. Come, back to the lunch table.”

Something tells Ajay that the Royal Army really, really doesn't have anything well in hand.

Just behind them, there's a flurry of movement, the sound of pounding feet and Ajay braces himself for De Pleur or Yuma or someone else he really cannot handle dealing with right now.

Instead, there's another burst of gunfire – familiar, LMG? - and a spray of pain across his middle that lances into burning agony. Reflexively he clutches at the wounds and the urn in his hands tumbles to the floor.

Well. He'd always been good at breaking promises to her, this one is no different.

Ajay notices the ground rushing up to meet him before he notices his legs have stopped responding to his commands. The pain in his belly and side are crippling and he can't... he can't feel his legs.

Pagan is suddenly there, his face streaked with tears, and Ajay tries to say something – maybe 'I'm sorry', maybe 'not again' – and blood bubbles up between his lips, thick and hot and metallic.

He has another moment to be sorry for any poor bastard he'd torn up with his own LMG, before everything vanishes and he's sucked back into darkness.

It stands to reason then, that when he finally does open his eyes to see Darpan looking at him with concern, that his minor freak out is entirely understandable.

*

It takes him a shamefully long time to realize he's stuck in a more or less stable time loop. It starts on the bus, and ends with his death – usually a painful, surprising, horrific death. Ajay knew he'd been lucky that first time around, real lucky that he didn't die somehow in all the things he'd done. In all the things Sabal and Amita had asked him to do without thanks or...

Every time he thinks of Sabal's face after shooting Ajay in the back, his chest tightens and what feels suspiciously like a panick attack rips through his lungs. The first three times back around (he's not including the original) he sticks stupidly close to Amita, even though he's not particularly inclined to believe in her ideals.

Sabal... Well, Sabal makes him nervous now. Even though this Sabal hasn't shot him in the back, this Sabal draws back with expressions of confusion and hurt whenever Ajay flinches at his nearness.

It takes twelve – maybe thirteen turns before Sabal finally corners him. Ajay had slipped into their main communication center with an armful of pelts (he's gotten really, really good with the recurve bow) when Sabal slips in behind him. “Brother,” he says and Ajay freezes.

He can't move. His knees are locked and the tension in his back is actually physically painful. Ironically, now is when his hands decide to clench, claw like, around the ropes holding the pelts together. (And why couldn't do that happen when he was holding his mom's ashes?) “Sabal,”he mumurs, and his stupid fucking voice cracks on the last syllable – jesus, it's just like that communication class in University.

“So you are afraid of me,” Sabal whispers, and there's a thunk following the words. Ajay manages to make himself turn around, still clutching the pelts. There's as much space between them as the small room permits, with Sabal's shoulders pressed back against the door. He looks... He looks _devastated_ , his entire expression folding in on itself and Ajay actually feels badly for it. “What--” Sabal begins to ask, but his voice fails him, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “What have I done to make you look at me so, brother? And how can I fix it?”

Ajay licks his lips, and ruthlessly tells his heart rate to slow the fuck down. “You haven't done anything, Sabal,” he says. It's... not exactly a lie. This Sabal hasn't done anything to him. “You... remind me of someone. Um, really strongly.”

Surprisingly, that doesn't seem to reassure Sabal at all, he just looks even more concerned. “Someone who has hurt you so badly that you cannot even stand to be near me,” he says quietly. “I am so sorry, Ajay,” he adds, when Ajay can't seem to make his mouth work. “I don't know what happened to you, or who did it. But I will keep my distance, if it will put you at ease.”

“I was in love with him,” Ajay blurts out. “And he killed me.” That is way more information than he'd really meant to share. Finally managing to unclench his fingers from the pelts, he lays them carefully on the table nearest to him.

“Ajay,” Sabal breathes, taking a step forward.

He doesn't mean to tense up. He really doesn't. Sabal's expression crumples further when he sees Ajay's reaction. “Agh,” he mutters, pressing his aching fingers to his eyes. “I'm sorry, Sabal, I am. This is ridiculous, I know you won't hurt me.”

_Sort of._

But surprisingly, Sabal only shakes his head, a slight smile on his face though his eyes are still too wide and wet. “Clearly, you do not.”

Ajay takes a deep breath. “My brain knows, at the very least. I'm still sorry.”

It's going to take longer than a few weeks to get over being shot in the back by the one person he trusted above all others. But this Sabal is not that Sabal and it would get better. Maybe not this rotation, but some rotation later on – it will get better.

So Ajay manages a smile, and holds out a hand to Sabal. “We'll work it out,” he tells the other man. They will, even though he has to surpress a flinch at Sabal's touch.

_I can do this._

*

It doesn't matter how many times he has to do this, Ajay just really hates bell towers. Altogether there have been fourteen times that he's attempted to survive Kyrat, and though he's not managed to make it to the North of Kyrat in any timeline except the first, he actually remembers how to scale each bell tower.

It's a little pathetic that something that inane is actually taking space up in his brain.

Every time he leaves Banapur now, Sabal makes sure to remind him to be careful, that as much as it's helpful to deal with the bell towers (Pagan has seriously bad taste in music) it's also not worth Ajay's life.

And, every time Sabal cautions him against falling, Ajay just smiles and nods. “Don't worry so much,” he says irreverently, “I'm always careful.”

Of course, the one time Sabal isn't in Banapur to complete the ritual is the one time Ajay falls from a tower. It's not as dramatic as that, honestly, the towers are rickety and old, and a lot of the wood is rotting or wet. It's one of the towers where he doesn't have to leap and jump and catch himself on moldy ropes, and he'd grown careless as a result.

He's really not expecting to step on the platform holding the propaganda radio and have the floor, the radio, and himself go plummeting towards the ground in a shower of splinters and noise.

The radio explodes in a shower of sparks and for one terrifying moment, Ajay hangs in the air like a bad cartoon before he too crashes to the rocky ground, wood and debris falling around him. “Ow,” he manages to say, rolling onto his back.

A bright lance of pain stabs him in the side, and the metallic smell of blood swirls around him in the freezing wind. Shit. There's very little way he's getting out of here on his own power. Tilting his head up, he can see the truck he'd borrowed, still idling at the end of the road, probably forty feet from where he lays.

Trying to sit up makes another spike of pain tear through him and actually darkens the edges of his vision. Absently, he wonders how far he is from the ledge of the mountainside and if he could get over there before he passed out.

It's not like his death ever sticks, right?

Just as he's starting to calculate how much pain he can physically handle, his radio crackles to life. “Brother?” Sabal's voice says, somewhat muffled. “Rhanda told me you left Banapur early this morning to liberate the bell tower near King's Bridge. Rabi checked in and said he's streaming from there now – good job, brother.”

Groaning under his breath, Ajay twists as much as he's able trying to reach the radio hooked to his belt in the back. As he strains, Sabal clicks back on. “... Ajay?”

His fingers brush the edge of the radio and with a sound that's more like a tortured scream he manages to get his fingers around it and yank it out from behind him. Alarmingly, the thing is covered in blood, his fingers are slick and he nearly drops it twice.

“Ajay! I really need you to answer me, brother!” Sabal says urgently.

“Yeah,” Ajay manages to pant into the radio, clutching it awkwardly. “I'm here.”

There's a sigh of relief that makes him smile despite the agonizing pain. “Thank Kyra. Are you on your way back?”

Ajay licks his lips, tasting blood. (He's really sick of tasting blood.) “... No,” he says quietly. “I uh, I don't think I'm moving for a bit, Sabal.”

“What? What does that mean?”

Red lined blackness is starting to fill his vision and Ajay tightens his grip on the radio just in case. He's gotten used to dropping important things at the moment of his death. “I fell,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “I didn't mean to. The floor fell away.”

Sabal hisses several expletives that Ajay doesn't understand. “Are you injured?” Ajay nods, because breathing hurts. “Ajay! You need to answer me! Stay awake, brother!”

“Uh huh,” Ajay manages to murmur. “Can't move.”

Another round of expletives bursts through the line and Sabal shouts something in Nepalese to whoever's in the room with him. “Hang on, Ajay. We're coming, yes? Talk to me, brother!”

Ajay takes a shaky breath. “Sorry. This is my slowest death yet.”

Sabal shouts something, maybe 'no', maybe his name, but it doesn't matter. The red and black take him over and he's gone, he's out, floating on a river of red petals before even that disappears.

He opens his eyes as something prods his knee. “Passport?” Darpan asks.

 _Damn_.

Ajay hands over the passport, scowling down at the floor. He'd really hoped Sabal would have gotten to him in time.

The beginning of this rotation goes as normal, the bus gets shot and Pagan brings both himself and Darpan to de Pleur's fortress. Pagan seems a bit subdued but more or less his normal self which is comforting because sometimes he's... really, strange.

Amita and Sabal generally do as they're supposed to but Pagan is a force unto himself. Ajay's never really sure which Pagan he's going to get per rotation.

This time, he's careful – way more careful than the last several times – because he has absolutely zero desire to ever bleed out like a stuck pig in the middle of nowhere alone and freezing.

He makes it to Northern Kyrat at least, which is the first time since the original time. Ajay's not really sure what sends him so close to the Royal Fortress in his father's old buzzer – maybe he wants to find out why Pagan is always so different – but it doesn't matter.

The missle to his face is definitely a surprise.

“Passport?” Darpan asks.

With a sigh, he hands it over. He's really sick of the bus too.

*

They don't shoot the bus.

Since Ajay can still feel the heat of the RPG against his neck, he's sort of glad about that in an abstract way.

They're just standing around when Pagan's helicopter lands, and through the wind, Ajay can see the way Pagan zeroes in on Darpan instantly. “Ajay,” he says, like he's greeting an old friend, though his eyes are still on the commander, “I'll be right with you, darling.”

He really hates it when it seems like Pagan is seven steps ahead because seriously, “how do you know my name?”

Pagan's smile has too many teeth and Darpan looks pretty nervous about it. “Let's play a game,” Min sing-songs, “It's called 'which little monkey is a traitor to the crown?'! Shall we begin?” He turns back to Ajay and his smile physically changes on his face, it's suddenly friendly, suddenly happy. It's fucking insane, is what it is. “Not you, dear boy,” he adds, tipping a wink in Ajay's direction.

... _Dear boy?_

Darpan drops to his knees – probably a smart move – and lies like a god damn rug. “I'm sorry, your majesty! I did not know he was the son of Mohan!”

Ajay winces, tilting his head up to avoid being seen. But, Pagan doesn't pay him any mind, hissing through his teeth and scowling fiercely at Darpan. “I don't give two shits about Mohan Ghale,” he growls, looming over the other man. “I care about Ishwari. So if you must call him by a ridiculous title, call him Son of Ishwari. Better yet, call him by his fucking name!”

Pagan turns then towards Ajay, who frowns at him. “Um,” he says, feeling stupid. “You knew my mother?”

Can he just mention that he really hates pretending not to know anything about the past now? It was old the first time, it's really fucking old now.

“Yes,” Pagan says quietly. “I did. I knew them both, actually. This man,” he adds, glancing at Darpan, “is a Commander for the terrorists known as the Golden Path, a group created to end the regime.” His smile sharpens a bit and Ajay clenches his fists in his jacket. “It was created by Mohan Ghale.”

Ajay makes a face, since Pagan has never once mentioned that the Golden Path was created by his parents before. He seriously cannot get over how different Pagan is.

“So I'm your enemy,” he says, because what else is he supposed to say to that? “That's why you stopped the bus.”

But, Pagan snorts, shaking his head. “Don't be so fucking over dramatic, dear boy,” he says. “You're hardly my enemy. I changed your diapers, for fuck's sake. Carried you on my shoulders. Enemy? _Please_.”

_Hypocrite._

“So uh...” His voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, damningly but he manages to forge ahead without blushing too hard. “What do you want from me?”

“Why,” Pagan says brightly, clapping a hand over Ajay's shoulder. “I want you to come with me. See my kingdom. You'll be a fabulous protege, Ajay, you really will. I never did manage to have that heir.”

Even to Ajay, who knows the secret truth, Pagan's poker face is awesome. At least until too much time passes between his offer and Ajay's answer. Ajay has the rare privledge of watching Pagan's eyes go dark and shadowy, his expression smoothing out too much to be real, and for the first time, Ajay sees how he can change things.

“Yeah,”he says, trying to stay gentle. “I'll come with you. Just... let these people go.”

Pagan turns to Darpan with another sinister grin. “If I were you, little monkey, I wouldn't text your dear Sabal to come rescue you. You get a free pass. Don't ruin it.”

This time, Ajay feels like _he's_ the one ushering Pagan onto the helicopter. “My mother asked me,” Ajay says once they're on their way, “She asked me to bring her back to Lakshmana.”

Pagan nods, with a small smile. “We'll go there now.”

That was somewhat easier than he was expecting it to be, and Ajay finds it in him to smile at the older man. When the man isn't stabbing people with pens or covered in blood, he's actually rather handsome.

Ajay's so disturbed by the thought that he misses the whine of the RPG until Darpan is holding out his hand and asking for his passport.

“God _damn_ it!”

*

Sometimes he dies on the bus. Sometimes he falls from belltowers, or soaring through the Himalaya's for Willis. Once, even Pagan himself shoots him when he's drugged out on Yuma's cocktail inside Durgesh. Sometimes he goes with Pagan, and ignores the screaming of Darpan, sometimes he follows Sabal to Banapur.

He always befriends Bhadra, always takes her side when Amita and Sabal fight over her.

He's absolutely heart broken the day he finally decides Amita should lead the Golden Path and returns to Tirtha to find her recruiting children into the Golden Path. She tells him Bhadra is safe away from anyone's poisonous influence and there's blood on her hands when she says it.

Timeline Ninety-Something has him dying by way of Golden Path after he shoots Amita in the back.

Once he get's headbutted off a cliff by a yak. He drowns in a lake on another stupid errand to get Yalung's Mask, and a live grenade in Longinius' tent ends him in even another.

All in all, he's really sick of dying. And if he never hears the word “Passport” again, it will be too soon. At least he can look Sabal in the eye again, and their ever growing easy friendship is something Ajay can cherish.

He probably fell out of love with him eighty rotations ago, though, which makes their friendship somewhat easier.

It's rotation one hundred something (less than thirty, more than ten) when he walks into their headquarters in Banapur and finds Amita and Sabal sitting pensively – and quietly. The pensiveness is expected, but the quiet, that's more concerning.

“Um,” he says, taking a startled step back. “Who died?”

Sabal looks up at him, his expression bleak. “A little girl,” he murmurs. “Brother... we found Lakshmana.”

 _What_.

“O-Okay,” he says, drawing out the word. “You said it was probably a shrine in the North.”

“It's not,” Amita grumbles. “Lakshmana was a person. Her name was Lakshmana Min.”

 _What the...?_ “How did you find out? Where did this information even come from?” Ajay asks incredulously. No one ever seemed to know what the hell he was talking about when he asked about Lakshmana, it was only Pagan who ---

“Pagan Min asked for spiritual guidance from Bhadra,” Sabal says shortly. “He told us about Mohan Ghale's legacy, that the man that helped shape me, helped raise me, who I followed without question, was no better than Pagan himself. Lakshmana was Pagan's daughter, and Mohan killed her.” Sabal's voice breaks and he looks away. “I am sorry, brother. But to lay your mother to rest, you'll have to speak to Pagan Min.”

Ajay leans against the door. “That seems like it might be easier said than done.”

Amita snorts. “Yes. The North is still closed to us.”

“So I'll take the North.” He's done it before, after all. “Look, Pagan clearly knew you'd come back here and tell me you'd found Lakshmana, so he has to expect I'll be coming, right?”

Sabal and Amita exchange looks. “That's true,” he says, “I hadn't thought of it that way.” Slowly, Sabal rises to his feet to clasp Ajay's wrist between his hands. “Look, brother. You must promise not to die.”

Chuckling nervously, Ajay pats him on the arm, shooting Amita an uncomfortable look. “I uh, I promise that every time.”

“Please,” Sabal urges, tightening his grip. “It would hurt all of us to lose you.”

He pulls away with a grunt of effort. “Okay, Okay, Jesus. I promise.” He rubs where Sabal had gripped him, frowning. “I won't die, okay?”

That seems to satisify him, and Sabal backs away. “I wish you luck, brother,” he says seriously. “Amita and I will hold down here until you return.”

Ajay snorts. He can't help it, the idea of them getting along for enough time so that Ajay can get to the Palace and back is hilariously laughable. “Right,” he drawls.

Amita scowls at him. “We're adults! We're perfectly capable of making decisions on our own.”

But Ajay just shakes his head. “Guys, you couldn't agree on whether or not to save people or intel. Amita, you'll never know for sure if the intel was going to be worth it and if I had gone after it and it turned out to be useless, we'd all feel really fucking stupid. You also couldn't agree on the state of the poppy fields. You two can't agree on what to have for dinner, let alone what's going on in the Golden Path.”

Looking affronted, Sabal and Amita open their mouths to complain. Amita says, “the intel was--” while Sabal says, “drugs are not the--” before they turn to each other and start bickering in Nepalese.

“What did I literally just say?” Ajay asks rhetorically.

Sabal closes his mouth, expression sheepish as he sinks back into his seat. “Alright,” he concedes, “so we have a history of being at odds.”

Ajay smiles, relief trickling down his spine. In all his rotations dealing with the two of them, neither of them have bothered to see what they'd been doing to the Golden Path – or themselves.

“Just, don't make any major decisions right now, okay?” Ajay says, and reaches for the door knob. “I have a shrine to find.”

He pats his mother's urn on his way out the door, tucking it close to his chest. Maybe now he'll finally be the son she always deserved.

*

Surprisingly, it's stupidly easy to get into the Royal Fortress. He walks up to the barricade and calls up, “My name is Ajay Ghale! And I'm here to parley with Pagan Min!”

There's some shouting and a guard sticks his head out over the top of the barricade. “Hold on!” he calls down. “Keep your weapons holstered!”

Ajay waves his upraised hands, giving the guard a look, one eyebrow slightly raised. The guard disappears and reappears two seconds later at the doors.

“This way,” the guard says, and gestures to a car behind him. “I will take you.”

They make the ride in silence, while the guard nervously eyes Ajay's weapons. It's a ten minute drive up the mountainside but the scenery is rather pleasant, and the anticipation of finally letting his mother rest makes him a bit giddy.

The guard then leads him into the Palace and through multiple sets of doorways before pointing out another one. “That way, his office is through there.”

With only a little apprehension, Ajay enters the room and faces Pagan Min. The man himself looks him over with a slightly raised eyebrow, his eyes clearly lingering over Ajay's remaining weapons.

“None of them seemed to want to disarm me,” Ajay explains with a shrug.

Pagan seems to accept that at face value and smirks, shaking his head. “Well,” he says lightly, “I'd be worried if you didn't simply walk up to the front door and knock. Thank you for not shooting the place up, getting a good architect up here is very difficult, as you can imagine.”

That makes Ajay laugh, and he takes a seat in one of the available chairs. “I had a very interesting conversation with Sabal a few days ago,” he tells Pagan, leaning forward a bit. “He says you know where Lakshmana is, and that I should ask you about it.”

“Her,” Pagan corrects. “Lakshmana is... was. A person. A child.” He gestures towards the side door. “Here. I'll explain on the way.”

Ajay falls into step with Pagan, and says somewhat ironically, “That explains why I couldn't find her on a map.”

Pagan ducks his head, laughing, and his hair falls artfully into his eyes, expertly hiding their expression. “I wouldn't have put her on a map,” he says, quietly. “Lakshmana was my daughter, she... died. When she was one year old.”

And if Sabal hadn't spilled the beans on Mohan's involvement, he might have believed the simple statement. “Wow,” he says, flat. “You just lied to me.”

Pagan jerks his head in Ajay's direction, scowling. “I did not lie,” he snaps. “But if you'd prefer to hear the entire truth, fine. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.” They get outside and he gestures to a small building to the right. “Lakshmana was my daughter, and her mother was Ishwari Ghale,” he says tightly. “I do realize how that sounds, dear boy. But I loved your mother.” He leans his forehead on the door of the shrine, cutting his eyes towards Ajay with an expression of such intense sorrow that it takes Ajay's breath away. “Women can say that they love you in the moment, and really mean it. While men can only love in hindsight, when too much distance has built up. So I... never told her, how I felt.”

This sounds disturbingly like Pagan is actually his father, and he really hopes that isn't true. “Um,” he says, interjecting before Pagan can go on, “you're not about to announce you're actually my father, right?”

The look of horror on Pagan's face is priceless. “Fuck no!” he says, recoiling. “You're absolutely Mohan Ghale's son. He sent Ishwari and you to me – to spy, ostensibly – but... thing's changed. She got pregnant, and she gave us Lakshmana.”

Ajay turns his gaze to the door. “How did she die?”

“Mohan Ghale drowned her in the bathtub,” Pagan says quietly. Ajay's fingers slip on the door handle and he turns to Pagan, horror closing up his throat. “Ishwari is the one who chased him back to their old household and she killed him. It... was probably in self defense, Ishwari only ever wanted peace. She tried so hard to get peace for us, Ajay. In the end, she just ran.”

Ajay frowns, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her urn. It's a bit scuffed up, but the words and the double kukri are clear. “You didn't follow her.”

“No. I came in here twenty years ago, and came out... well, this.” He looks away from the door. “Go on. I'll wait here.”

With that bombshell under his belt, Ajay slips into the shrine. He's immediately faced with a picture of a little girl, dressed well and smiling at the camera. His mother's urn matches the one already on the alter, minus the symbol for the Golden Path.

He places it even with Lakshmana's and lights the incense surrounding them. It almost smells like his mother's hair.

“I'm sorry it took so long, mom,” he whispers. “But I finally made it. I wish you'd told me what I was getting into before I got here. I'd have liked to have heard about my baby sister.” He bows his head, blinking back tears. “Am I done now? If I – If I die again, will you let me rest? I can't... do this again. Dying really sucks.”

He waits for a while, trying to keep back the tears. He didn't cry when he nearly went to jail for murder, he didn't cry when his entire life fell apart by plea bargaining. He didn't cry when his mother told him she was dying, and he didn't cry when she passed from the world holding his hand.

He is due, and he can't afford it.

So he exits the building, searching out Pagan, who sits on the steps leading back to the Palace. “Thank you,” he says quietly, sitting next to him. “You didn't have to let me do that.”

“Of course I did, dear boy,” he drawls. “Ishwari would never forgive me.”

That's probably true. His mother could hold a grudge like no one else in the world.

“So uh,” Ajay asks, a little nervous, “where do we go from here?” He bites his lip. “I'm really not looking forward to shooting up the walls trying to get out of here if you decide to arrest me.”

Pagan scowls, looking him over. “Why would I arrest you, exactly?”

Ajay points to the Golden Path symbol on his sleeve. “Aren't I a terrorist?”

“So was Ishwari if you really think about it,” Pagan says, amused. “I don't give a shit. This country is yours if you want it.”

_What!_

“You can't just give me a country!” he hisses, terrified. “That's irresponsible! What the hell am I going to do with a country?!”

But Pagan only shrugs. “You don't think it's time for me to make my grand escape, dear boy? Sabal and Amita are out for blood, and the last time a leader of the Golden Path came anywhere near me, I lost the nearest and dearest to my heart. Am I not allowed to be tired?”

Ajay tilts his head to one side, thinking it over. “Sure,” he says slowly. “That makes sense. But uh, I don't know what I would do with a country.”

“What anyone with a country does, dear boy. You could rule.”

Snorting a laugh, he shakes his head, wondering about the pet names Pagan saddles on him.

“What,” Pagan continues when Ajay doesn't respond. “You don't think you could do it? You're the only heir of the last rightful head of this god forsaken place, Ajay.”

“No,” Ajay says, snorting out another laugh and shaking his head. “No, no way. I don't think so.” He shifts a bit to glance at Pagan. “I've never been able to do public speaking. I uh, failed the course in college because I couldn't do it. So um, no. Being king would just... no.”

Shrugging and smiling, Pagan says, “Nothing written says you have to make announcements yourself. If you're the King, you can do as you like. Make Sabal do your announcements for you – or that irritating shit, Rabi Ray Rana.”

Ajay winces, thinking of the first timeline. “Yeah... don't get me wrong, I like Rabi, but after he went on a radio tangent about bidets and my underwear, I'm not sure I could trust him to give a statement to the general public. Ever.”

That makes Pagan snort, loudly. “I really don't blame you there, dearest.”

... _Dearest?_

“And what about Sabal? You've been quite close to him in recent months.”

The implication makes Ajay blush, thinking of the first rotation and the longing that accompanied it. But, being killed by and saved by the man so many times makes it difficult to see him as anything more than a friend. “Yeah,” he says after a second, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sabal's a little intense but he means well.” Sighing, Ajay looks away. “He loves Kyrat for what she is, Amita only wants to force a change. I... Only wanted to lay my mom to rest, you know? I really didn't sign up to make all the big decisions for an entire people.”

Pagan rests a hand on his shoulder, surprisingly enough. Other than Sabal, very, very occasionally, he's not been touched in a really long time. “I understand,” Pagan says, but Ajay is only half listening. “I wish things had been different.”

The warmth of Pagan's hand and the long line of his side is too much. He slumps into the other man, leaning against him gratefully. “I wish I'd stayed for lunch,” he says quietly. “I... actually like crab rangoon too.” He means the first rotation, but really, every time he turns down dinner at Pagan's, his stomach aggressively reminds him why that's a terrible plan. “I'm sorry that I didn't,” he adds.

There's a pause where Pagan's grip inexplicably tightens but he says, evenly enough, “I suppose I can't blame you, I'd forgotten you'd not grown up in our country and were less than expecting the tortures it could bring. I imagine the screaming put you off the crab rangoon, hm?”

Ajay smiles, to hide it's expression. “A bit. ( _Lie_.) I mean, if I had thought about it,” ( _Lie_.) “If I had known...” ( _Lie_.) “I've killed a lot of people, Pagan.” He hunches his shoulders, tucking in closer. “That isn't who I am.” (... _Lie_.)

Another surprise: Pagan squeezes his shoulder, offering as much comfort as he can. “It wasn't Ishwari's way either.” Ajay sags, tilting his head down to hide his eyes.

“Someday,” he says, with all the prior knowledge of a hundred cycles, “Someday they're going to ask me to choose. I don't know that I can do that.” ( _Again_.)

There's another lengthy pause before Pagan speaks again, and when he does, his voice is thick like he's swallowing around tears. “You've done as your mother asked,” he points out, “you could leave.”

It's a tempting thought, but... “I can't actually. You have my passport.”

Pagan reaches into the pocket closest to his heart and pulls out the blue booklet. He _kept_ it. He'd collected it from the ground where his soldier had thrown it and he'd kept it close. “It was remiss of me to keep it so long,” he says, for the first time sounding a bit awkward. “I do apologize, dear boy.”

Curling his fingers around the booklet, Ajay stares down at his hands, eyes tracing what he holds. “I... Thank you.” He stands slowly, averting his gaze. “And, thank you again for... for Lakshmana.”

Ajay's ready to flee. There's too much between them right now, history and one-sided knowledge and yes, even a bit of attraction.

“You're welcome, for all of it. It was never my intention to become your enemy, darling. I'm sorry it's come to this.” Pagan stands with him, and his gaze his open and uncertain.

Dearest. Dear Boy. Darling.

It's the least he can do to even use his first name. “Me too, Pagan,” he says. He smiles, as true and as geniune as he can make it. His mother used to call it his “gosh, little boy” smile that used to get him out of trouble so often.

He starts for the side door, the one that probably leads out to the cliff side. “Hey,” he says, after a beat. He unhooks his grappling hook in an absent motion, swinging it once to test out his range of motion. “If I asked you, right now, to get me on a plane and let me go back to California... would you?”

“Without hesitation, dear boy.”

The answer comes naturally, and Pagan's body language is open and honest. It's good enough for him.

“Good,” he says, relieved. “That... that's good.” He makes his escape then, letting the door swing closed behind him.

It's not until he's rappelled half way down the mountain that he remembers it's been a long time since Pagan's served crab rangoon at lunch... and that Pagan answered as though it hadn't been.

_Weird._

*

He kidnaps Paul.

Sort of.

He infiltrates the City of Pain, which he does flawlessly because he's done it like, a hundred and ten times and he has pretty much memorized where each guard stands and where to climb and where not to jump, but once he has Paul unconscious on the ground, he hesitates.

A few timelines ago he'd stuck around after Sabal and Amita had told him to go, he'd gotten really good at hiding in trees and brush. The screams his friend( _s_ ) had wrung from Paul had chilled him to the bone. Then he'd followed them to the ridge where they'd kept him in a cage, feet away from his ringing phone, never able to reassure his child he was alive.

One timeline had killed him, trying to free de Pleur.

So he puts the bag over de Pleur's head, ties his wrists with a bit of leather, and dumps him in the boot of his stolen car.

They're far away before alarms even _begin_ to sound at the fortress.

He absolutely refuses to speak to Paul though the man shouts and screams at him. It takes a while to get to the Fortress and all he has to do is wave at the commander to be let in, which doesn't speak much for Pagan's security.

So Ajay shoves Paul through the front doors, letting him fall with a painful sounding crunch. “Would you stop talking?” Ajay says, nudging him with a foot. “There is literally nothing you can offer me that will get me take off that hood and untie your wrists until I'm good and ready.”

Paul swears violently under his breath but before he can start yelling (again), his phone begins to ring. Right on time, as always. Paul freezes, his chest rising and falling in panicked shallow breaths, before he says, very softly, “please, let me answer my phone. It's my daughter, I always answer for her. I can't – please, Ajay.”

Sighing, Ajay reaches into Paul's back pocket and fishes out the phone and thumbs it on. He's never had the opportunity to actually help out the faceless little girl who loves her father, so he'll take it. “Ashley!” Paul breathes in relief. “Hi, babygirl. You did? That's amazing.” Ajay shifts a little uncomfortably, as Paul laughs. “Of course I got you the gold chain necklace. Dad always follows through when he says he will, right? I love you babygirl.”

Ajay flinches a little, turning his face away, thinking of the box of effects the gold chain was stolen from. “I wish I could spend all night talking to you too, sweetheart. But daddy has a meeting. Call me before you go to bed tonight, okay?” He nods a little. “I love you too. Have fun at soccer practice.” Ajay closes the phone for him and Paul takes a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” Ajay looks away from the man on the floor and meets Pagan's eyes as he walks down the stairs into the foyer. “Hi,” he greets. “You need to get him out of the country and back to his family.”

Paul nearly falls over, trying to pinpoint who else is in the room. “Who are you talking to?”

“Well, well, well, this is a surprise,” Pagan drawls, loudly, sharing a grin with Ajay. “I'd heard about your adventure at the city but I had no idea you'd be giving me the present you liberated from it's walls. Paul, you're losing your fucking touch.”

“The little shit headbutted me, Pagan,” Paul grumbles. “I wasn't expecting it.”

It's interesting to watch Pagan's reaction to the black bag, pulling it off Paul's head and smoothing his hair back gently. “That little shit,” here he looks up, winking at Ajay, “just saved your life, do try to be a bit grateful.” Ajay leans back against a nearby pillar watching them. “Not that I'm not pleased,” Pagan says, turning to face Ajay, “but why did you bring him to me?”

Ajay looks down and away, trying to regulate his expression. “There's been enough death,”he answers, finally. “You love your daughter right?” he asks Paul, expression flattening out.

Paul snorts, derisive. “Of course I do.”

“Then go home,” Ajay tells him, hard and unkind. “You have a family and a daughter who clearly idolizes you. Get out of this place, don't come back and you'll remember that I could have taken you to Sabal.”

Instead of answering, Paul looks at Pagan, who in turn looks at Ajay. Whatever he sees in Ajay's face – the bruise, the blood, the expression – Pagan nods. “The King has spoken. I'll have Naveen bring the helicopter around.”

He takes out his kukri and slices through the leather at Paul's wrists. “Don't fuck it up,” he growls. “Is... Noore's family really dead?” Paul hesitates but nods, flexing his wrists.

“Those were my orders, I fear,” Pagan says, and Ajay turns the full force of his disapproval towards him. To his eternal surprise, Pagan actually looks away first, shame skating over his face. “No loose ends,” he explains quietly.

He's saved from responding when his phone rings, and he sighs in quiet relief. It's Sabal, though, of course it is. “Yeah?” he answers.

“We saw the explosion brother,” Sabal's rich voice says clearly from the satellite phone. “Amita told me to wait until you reappeared but, I was worried. Do you have de Pleur?”

Ajay looks at Paul and takes a deep measured breath. “No. I'm sorry, Sabal. I.. I..” he takes another one and his voice cracks. “I killed him. I didn't mean to, I was just... I was so angry.”

“Did you stay away because you though we'd be angry with you, brother?” Sabal asks, excruciatingly gentle.

Swallowing, Ajay turns from Paul to look out the door he'd left open. “... Maybe.”

But Sabal only chuckles softly. “I would have done the same. It's unfortunate, I'm sure he had quite a bit of information, but it's no loss to the Golden Path. Come back to me, whenever you're ready.”

Eighty timelines ago and hearing Sabal say that would have caused him to drop everything and go, just to be near him. But Ajay's been killed by, and saved by, Sabal enough times that their bond is deep – and platonic.

The call ends and Ajay turns to face Pagan, his voice fading away slightly when he sees the look on Pagan's face. His expression is twisted, and full of longing... and even jealousy.

Well now. That's interesting.

“There. You should be safe enough for now, but if you stay for too long, they're going to figure out that I lied to them.”

Paul rose to his feet. “Ajay...”

“Don't you thank me. Don't do it, de Pleur. I didn't do it for you.” Ajay turns to look at Pagan, meeting his eyes. “Get him out of here, Pagan.”

Pagan smiles again, inclining his head and Ajay steps out the door as soon as he has a chance. He wonders to himself during the drive down the mountain, when Pagan stopped being his enemy.

*

He chooses to blow up the factory.

Although, that's not exactly accurate, he'd walked into Banapur to find Amita and Sabal bickering quietly about drugs – again – with Bhadra a few feet away with a disappointed frown marring her features – again – and Ajay inserted himself gracelessly into the conversation – again.

“You can settle this debate for us, brother,” Sabal says easily, once he's in view.

He manages not to roll his eyes but it's a close thing, so he shoots Bhadra his best long-suffering look to make her giggle. “What's going on?” he asks, like he doesn't already know the answer.

“Sabal wants you to destroy the Heroin factory,” Amita grumbles. Ajay waits for the other shoe to drop, raising an eyebrow and watching her carefully. “And I do not.”

What a surprise! Ajay sighs quietly, dropping his head to look at the ground. “Okay,” he says after a second of irritation. “Hit me with your arguments. And if either of them have the words 'Kyra be praised' or 'Kyrat needs change' I'm going to bed and not doing anything.”

There's several minutes of silence broken only by Bhadra's stifled giggles, as Amita and Sabal struggle to come up with better reasoning than the shit they've been feeding him since time line one.

He takes pity on them as soon as he sees the despondent expression on Sabal's face and the red flush on Amita's. He unzips his jacket, tugging it off despite the cold wintry air. “Look,” he says gently. “I know better than anyone how much heroin ruins lives, Amita. I know it first hand.” He rolls up his sleeve, displaying faded marks on the inside of his elbow. There aren't many, but anyone looking would know exactly what they were from. “I fell into a bad crowd when I was little older than Bhadra. I trusted the wrong person and I spent the next five years in a haze of alcohol and drugs and stupidity. Amita, I know you're concerned about Kyrat and how it treats women and the future. Sabal, I know you want to bring Kyrat to a golden age of peace. Neither of your answers will work though – because Amita's right, the drugs are expensive, and Kyrat needs money. I burned the opium fields and helped replant real food, but until winter is over, Kyrat's money problems are vast.”

Sabal brushes his fingers over the track marks gently, folding his hands over the scars. “That is Pagan Min's fault, not ours.”

“True,” Ajay allows, inclining his head. “But if the end game is his removal, all you're doing is screwing whoever takes over the country.” He slips out of Sabal's grasp, rolling his sleeve back down.

Amita sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away. “What do you suggest, Ajay?”

“I'll talk to Pagan,” he says evenly, willing his voice not to crack or shake. “He let me waltz into his Palace fully armed, he let me set my mom to rest. I'll talk to him about how to get money flowing again, without heroin.”

She barks an unhappy laugh. “And what the hell makes you think he'll listen to you?” she asks derisively.

But Ajay is so used to her cover of vitriol that he just grins at her. “I'm the son of Ishwari,” he says in answer.

They plan it, if Pagan tells him the country is absolutely fucked without the heroin, he'll leave the Factory be. Otherwise, he'll blow the thing sky high and they'll figure it out with what's left of the Opium fields. So they let him go with warnings of being careful – those are more from Sabal than Amita – but no one complains when he takes a car with the intention of speaking to Pagan before doing anything.

Once he's near the Brick Factory, about a half a click away, he pulls out his much abused iPhone, and thumbs through the contacts until he finds the unlabeled number there – it's Pagan's and the only reason he even knows that is because before Pagan actually started using the radio for his ridiculous tangents, he'd called Ajay exactly once.

So he calls, pressing the phone to his ear and leaning back in the truck. Pagan answers the phone on the first ring with a breathless exclamation of his name. “Ajay?”

“How fucked is the country if I blow up the Factory?” he asks without preamble or pleasantries. “Because if the only answer to saving Kyrat from itself is drugs or no drugs, this choice really fucking sucks.”

There's a slight pause, and then Pagan laughs lightly. “Fucked, but we can come back from it, if we have to.” Ajay can almost hear the gears in Pagan's head turning. “I hear tourism is a moneymaker.”

_Ugh._

“Drugs or tourists. Those are my choices right now? Fun.” Someone on an ATV flies past him, a red flash in the countryside, and Ajay gives half a thought to chasing the courier down, but honestly it would require energy he doesn't have. “Thanks, Pagan.”

There's an awkwardly fumbling pause when Pagan suddenly says, too loud and unrefined, “Will you tell me about the Tarun Matara?”

Ajay pulls the phone away from his ear to give it a strange look, because _what_? He thinks for half a second before he finally says,“I think you know more about it than I do.”

But Pagan persists because of course he does. “No, no, I don't mean the religious crap. I mean the girl. Bhadra.”

Thinking of Bhadra makes Ajay smile a little, considering she's about the only friend he's got in the world. She shares his laughter and amusement, taking refuge with him when Amita and Sabal are on the warpath. It hurts him to think that Amita, who has cared for Bhadra for so long and for so much of their lives, could kill her without a second thought. “She's great,” he says, lamely. “Bhadra's a sweet girl, though she's stuck playing favorites with Amita and Sabal. Amita still hates me because I've never taken her side so she tries to keep Bhadra away from me. But, she's a kid, you know? She's the one that told me that not everything was normal about how Mohan died.”

He really doesn't want to call the man his father, not after hearing about Lakshmana.

Pagan makes a noise of agreement and then says, with no inflection whatsoever, “would she be a good Queen?”

Ajay stops breathing. He's listened to Amita's rant around a hundred times about old men who marry children in order to have even more children. He'd... well, pushing his entirely inappropriate jealousy aside, he'd thought Pagan better than that. “Why.” He doesn't mean to let his tone get that cold and angry but the idea of Bhadra... no. He'd sooner end this fledgling friendship than let Bhadra deal with him.

Pagan doesn't seem to notice his sudden tone change and says informatively, “Well, Kyrati law states that if there's no ruler from the Royal Family, the seat goes to the Tarun Matara and if she isn't of age, her guardians will take regency. If you've no interest in running Kyrat, and we're both leaving, then that leaves Bhadra.”

 _Oh, thank God_.

“Oh,” he breathes in relief. That makes a lot more sense. Pagan had made it pretty clear that the only woman he'd ever loved was Ishwari, and while Ajay still isn't sure what to do about the fact that the warlord's eyes now linger on him, the thought of 'Kyrati tradition' doesn't fill him with a lot of hope. “But Bhadra's guardians are Sabal and Amita,” he says.

Pagan sighs, his irritation clear. “That is the problem, yes.”

With a small laugh, Ajay shakes his head, looking down at the steering wheel. “Honestly, Sabal isn't a bad guy. He's a little set in his ways, but he's at least stopped calling me the Son of Mohan, like it was the title he wanted more than me.”

And thank goodness for that. Ajay can easily remember the way Sabal used to make his heart pound for all the wrong reasons, but the name 'Son of Mohan' spoken with such regard rather than 'Ajay' was always a dose of cold water over him.

“Well, if it becomes something I have to really worry about, I'll publicly endorse Sabal. You like him, if nothing else.”

Ajay would pay good money to see the look on Sabal's face for that radio announcement.

“That's probably not high praise. Thanks for the information, Pagan. I'm going to go blow up your heroin production factory.” He gets out of the truck, checking his ammo one last time, and readjusting his hip harness for his grenade launcher. “Bye,” he says lightly, ready to hang up the connection.

“Have fun, dear boy.” Pagan's quiet for a minute before he says, “Oh, and Ajay?”

“Yeah?”

“Do be careful. Please.”

He's a little surprised, to be honest. Sabal's always asking him to be careful, but no one else has ever offered the words. He smiles a little, a warm glow suffusing his chest. “I will, Pagan. I promise.”

He hangs up right after, thumbing the phone closed and shoving it into one of his many zippered pockets.

Ajay's done this enough times that he's a little in love with his sniper rifle, and the silenced _fwip, fwip, fwip_ that the gun makes is the only noise for a good ten minutes. He slips down into the area to take out the alarms and the dogs, flinging bait and taking them out with a well placed bolt from the crossbow. The patroling car is harder to remove, he has to time it exactly right, setting up a line of C4 in the middle of the road and ducking down to stay hidden.

Once the truck moves smoothly around the bend and over his trap, he detonates, and the vehicle does an impressive flip through mid air, blood, smoke and body parts flung out into open air.

He has about a five minute reprieve before reinforcements show up, so he swings up onto the nearby elephant and slams into the support struts in small, truly spectacular explosions of noise and wooden splinters.

Taking out the center of the factory has always been the hardest part, trying to dodge debris and bodies and not get shot at. He's always wondered who in their right mind gives a man a flame thrower inside a drug warehouse, but there always two of them, and they're always a bitch to kill.

And they're always fucking taller than him, which is the worst.

But the whole thing goes off without a hitch, and Ajay leaps off the building and straight into the arms of six army commanders. “Shit!” he shouts, back pedaling fiercely.

They'd never been there before. Someone shouts that they have eyes on Ajay Ghale, and six assault rifles swing up to point at him. He doesn't have a lot of time, the factory will go up in moments, and his hand, still clutching his phone, still on his belt, quests for anything that will get him out of there.

His fingers close on the top of a Molotov cocktail, and he flings it at their feet, sending the men scattering with bellows. In the smoke, he turns tail and runs, rabbiting over flat land towards the stream he knows is to the North.

He's nearly reached the rise when pain explodes out of his shoulder and he drops like a felled sambar. His left arm doesn't respond when he tries to crawl away, and the blood pumping out of him beats like the pounding of his heart.

“No, no, no, _no_ ,” he chants desperately. He's laid his mother to rest, he's done, he's out of time, out of chances. He's going to die here, and that will be the end. The world ignores his protesting, growing darker with every heartbeat, and Ajay finally makes it to the rise.

Another shot hits the ground near him, and the dirt splatter is intense. Explosive rounds?

The blackness in his vision is turning red at the edges, and with one last heave, Ajay pushes himself off the edge, falling into the water with a splash. There's a swirl of red leaves in the water and Ajay thinks of Pagan when he hears the news. Slowly, the red darkens to crimson, darkens to gray, and then everything goes a cold and final black.

_Sorry, Pagan. I tried._

*tbc


	5. v.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only took one hundred and fifteen different time lines before he developed PTSD. All things considered, he's probably lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked my butt off to get this chapter out today, oh man. I got mandated a bunch of times at work, so I worked something like 80 hours this week - it's not my record but it's close! - so I didn't have as much time as usual to sit down at my computer. Most of this was written on the tablet, hell, some of it was written by hand on scraps of paper during lulls in my work load.
> 
> This part is something like 40 pages which probably doesn't help. Inconsistency, thy name is 'Drea! Agh. 
> 
> Also this has some mangled Nepalese, written in. The translations will be in the end notes. Any native Nepali speakers, feel free to correct the way I've written this, honestly it was all Google Translate.
> 
> There is some PTSD in this chapter too - and some mentioning of suicide - a few flashbacks, and a short chat about rape. Please be warned.

PART FIVE – AJAY

The first thing he's aware of is pain. He's felt some pretty horrible injuries lately but this one tops them all. He can't quite open his eyes yet, or move his arm, but there's a fever bright lance of agony wrapping down from his shoulder to his arm, to his hip.

There's definitely a light source to the left, and he turns his head slowly towards it, the pull in his neck causing sharp spikes of pain in his temples. “Ajay?” a voice says, very quietly. “Brother, can you hear me?”

Well, he thinks, at least it's not ' _Passport_ '. He grunts a little, words still not quite within his grasp. He feels something at the crook of his arm and manages a whining protest at the feel of a needle sliding into his skin. He's been clean for six years, they can't do this to him!

“Hush, brother,” a familiar voice soothes him, close to his ear. “It's only morphine, for the pain. You were terribly injured, Ajay.”

With the lessening of the spiky pain, Ajay manages to place the voice. It's -- “Sabal,” he groans hoarsely.

“Yes,” Sabal whispers, obviously relieved. “Ajay, you've been unconscious for three days, we were... very concerned that you'd... not wake up.”

Ajay has a very brief flash of... something... not quite a memory, of someone leaning over him, speaking to him in a muffled language he doesn't understand.

Sabal is still speaking when he focuses back on him, turning his head towards where his voice is coming from. “... You managed to make it halfway to the nearest outpost, though Kyra knows how you did that, as injured as you were.” A hand takes his, squeezing gently. “A routine patrol found you and brought you in. It... was very touch and go, for a while.”

“Factory?” Ajay manages to ask, his voice sticking strangely on the consonants

“Destroyed. You did it, brother.” Sabal moves farther away, and the light source dims down, leaving Ajay in blackness rather than the red tinge, which frankly he prefers. “I have water, do you think you could drink it?”

He grunts, and opens his mouth when Sabal touches his face gently. The water is cool and delicious, clearing his throat and making swallowing feel less harsh. “What... happened?”

Sabal returns to his side, the bed sinking where he sits. “I was hoping you could tell me, brother.”

Ajay thinks, but the morphine and the lingering pain makes gathering the memories difficult. “I don't... remember,” he murmurs. “Someone found me? I... think... they took me away from the Factory.”

“Is there anything else you can remember?” Sabal asks gently, rubbing his hand gently over the back of Ajay's arm.

A dull roar fills Ajay's ears and he drags his eyes open to look at Sabal. “I don't know,” he murmurs helplessly. “A tiger?”

Sabal frowns, comical. “You were attacked by a tiger? That on top of the explosive round embedded in your shoulder?”

Thinking about, trying to think past the red swirl of blood in the water, or falling leaves, but eventually he shakes his head. “No. Not attacked.”

He really, really wishes he hadn't given his mother to Lakshmana yet, because it would almost be easier to let himself die and start again. (It's not the first time he's contemplated suicide in this place.)

“There's...” he makes a feeble gesture with his right hand, “syringe. In my bag. Green.”

Sabal leaves his field of view and he can hear him rustling through his bags, searching for it. “You have several of them, and a few yellow ones,” Sabal reports, bringing the case of needles to Ajay's bedside. “How many?”

“Uh,” Ajay says, thinking it over. He can't quite focus on the case, or the needles. “Start with one.”

Shit, this is going to _hurt_.

Unlike the morphine ( _heroin_ ), the healing syringes go straight into his wrist, and with Sabal pressing the injector, he's uniquely aware of how slow the other man goes. But the numb tingling rushes up his arm, and the stitches in his shoulder _pull_ in a truly uncomfortable way. He groans in pain, clenching his teeth around the sound. “Another,” he chokes out, but talking is already easier with the healing properties of the syringe.

Sabal presses the injector on this one faster, but still too slow, and the stitches in his shoulder pop one by one.

Ajay would seriously pay good money to find out how these things work. This sort of miracle cure to all his ills would be a real boon in California.

It takes all of Ajay's healing syringes to even get him to sit up in bed, which tells him how injured he was. He manages to lean against the wall, his pillow propping him up as best as it can. His left arm still feels too weak, and he cradles it against his chest. “Ow,” he says, a little breathless.

“I've seen the syringes work miracles, but none so welcome as this,” Sabal breathes, putting down the case. “How are you feeling now?”

Ajay manages to smile a little. “Well, I'm not going dancing any time soon,” he says dryly. “But I don't think I'll die either.”

Sabal's returning smile is all relief and happiness. He reaches out and touches Ajay's knee, his hand is warm and he squeezes gently. “You're exceedingly lucky, brother.”

“I'm certainly something,” Ajay jokes quietly. “Glad whoever it was found me.”

Expression turning serious, Sabal nods, squeezing Ajay's knee harder. “Do you remember anything more? I would love to thank who saved you.”

Even with the lessening of the pain, the only thing that Ajay can remember is seeing the red leaves swirl through the water around his arms. Since that sounds absolutely insane, he just shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “But whoever it was, I owe them my life.”

Sabal's smile widens into a grin. “Amita will be so relieved.”

Rolling his eyes, Ajay slumps into the bed. “Oh, she will not. She's probably cursing me for living as we speak.”

“You truly believe that?” her voice says from the door way. Surprisingly, she actually sounds hurt, and her eyes are bright with tears and her hand is half-way to her mouth in shock. “Ajay...”

 _Well, shit_.

“Amita,” he says, horrified. He'd always had the worst luck with her.

She comes into the room, and Ajay can see her hand visibly shaking. “Is that what you think of me? That I – could be happy with your death?”

Supremely uncomfortable, Ajay slides his eyes away from hers. “It's not exactly a secret that you and I don't get along.”

“Because we don't have the same ideals!” Amita snaps. “But I do not wish you dead!”

The conviction in her voice is surprising, considering their rip roaring fights of the past. “Okay,” he says softly. “I'm sorry. It just – it really feels like it sometimes, you know? That I'm just a means to an end, to the both of you.” He smiles, small and bitter. “Who else pulls the trigger around here, right?”

Both Amita and Sabal flinch back like his words are actually bullets. “You're my friend, brother,” Sabal says quietly. “I'm so sorry that you felt otherwise.”

Ajay manages another smile. “I know. I know I am. I'm just... tired.” He sighs, and if his breath shudders out of him, no one points it out. “I still have a lot left to do.”

“No,” Amita and Sabal chorus, snapping.

Sabal takes the initiative there, leaning forward to clasp Ajay's knee again. “You're to rest. Let the injections help, let yourself heal.”

“We'll take care of things,” Amita adds. “Bhadra will make a good guard, I think.”

Huffing a sigh, Ajay rolls his eyes. “That's cheating.”

“Good. That means it'll work.”

Amita gives him another long look, before she nods once and leaves the room. Sabal follows behind her, a small smile on his face.

Exhausted, Ajay slumps further into the bed.

He hopes Pagan doesn't think he's dead.

*

It takes a horrifically long time to heal.

Though the more severe injuries have closed, the sheer number of lacerations decorating his shoulder, upper arm and rib cage has him bandaged and seething for at least a week. Ironically, the scars they'll leave behind will resemble the scarring done by the mortar round in the very first time line, though the pattern is quite different.

The worst of the wounds is the bullet hole itself, where the thing had lodged itself in Ajay's body armor. It had exploded, tearing through Kevlar and skin to leave great swathes of burns where the melted armor touched him.

The miracle syringes can only do so much, and Ajay fingers the shining skin circling his bicep with absent touches. “Stop that,”Sabal reprimands, flicking at Ajay's fingers. “Leave it alone.”

“But it hurts,” he says, tone hooking into a whine at the end. “And I'm bored.”

Sabal just shakes his head, huffing out an irritated sigh. “We don't have a real doctor, Ajay,” he says, mostly patient, “so the more you touch it, the more likely you are to cause damage that we can't heal.”

“Noore's a doctor,” Ajay points out quickly.

With a short laugh, Sabal sits on the edge of Ajay's bed, looking disbelieving. “Noore works for Pagan,” he says, the 'obviously' unspoken but heard loud and clear.

Ajay nods in agreement. “By blackmail and force,” he says smugly. “De Pleur killed her husband and her sons, and faked their letters to her to keep her compliant.”

Sabal frowns, tilting his head to one side. “That may be, but she still is one of his Generals, and cannot be trusted.”

“Cannot be trusted by you, maybe. But I haven't the same history with her.”

Giving him a considering look, Sabal snorts. “She forced you to fight in the arena she runs. Naked,” he adds, dryly.

Ugh. Every rotation that happens and he's never going to get over the fact that the whole of Kyrat has seen him butt naked. “I still won,” he says pointedly. “Naked and unarmed, or not. She hid a knife for me so I wouldn't be entirely helpless.”

“Fine, I can concede that she's perhaps not out for your blood, even if that's the case, she's been an enemy of the Golden Path. But you're still injured, brother, how do you suppose you'll get to Shanath without harming yourself further?”

Ajay shrugs his right shoulder, taking pains to keep his left one immobile. “I'm more or less welcome there since I won my fight. But if you're that concerned, come with me.” He chews on his lower lip, thinking it over. “I can use one handed weapons just fine, and I'm proficient with the Auto-Crossbow, the grenade launcher and whatever SMG fits my sidearm holster.”

Sabal makes an annoyed face, looking up at the ceiling as though for guidance. “You've put a lot of thought into this, I see,” he murmurs. “Alright. I'll come with you – if only because if I don't, you might fall into the arena and then where would we be?”

Grinning, Ajay just shrugs again. “Death never sticks to me for long, Sabal.”

That might not be true anymore but Ajay feels like he's earned a bit of a cavalier attitude about death.

Only, Sabal doesn't smile back. His green eyes go very serious and he clasps Ajay's wrist with his hands. “Don't take chances, brother. We would none of us survive your death well.”

Blinking at him, Ajay can only nod. “I don't have any plans on dying today,” he assures the other man. “And I don't have a death wish, I swear it.”

Sabal eyes him fiercely for a long moment before he lets go of Ajay's wrist. “I'll be ready to go in the morning, if you can get dressed without help.”

Scoffing, Ajay looks away, offended. “I can get dressed myself!”

“We'll see,” Sabal teases, the severity gone from his expression. It's replaced with a warm softness, if not outright affection that makes Ajay pause like a sambar in the headlights. “I would tear Shangri La apart to find you, brother,” he swears quietly. “So do not die.”

To his utter and absolute horror, Ajay can feel himself blush, his face too warm and skin too tight. A few years ago (months ago? Ugh, time travel verbs are the _worst_ ) he would have been overjoyed at the affection in Sabal's gaze. Now though, he sees it for what it is – a kinship, offered and accepted. “I won't,” he promises quietly.

He's probably out of lives anyway.

Sabal nods once, rising to his feet. “I'll see you in the morning, brother,” he says, heading for the door. “This will certainly be interesting.”

Once the door is closed behind him, Ajay allows himself one bright smile at the picture of Kyra on his wall. Sabal isn't the _only_ person who can manipulate.

*

Getting into his clothing is the easy part. Trying to suit up with his holsters is another matter entirely. Eventually, Ajay just gives up and goes to find Amita, holding out the leather harness in defeat. “Don't tell Sabal?” he pleads, ducking his head shyly.

Making a disgusted noise, she turns him around and briskly hooks him into the harnesses, tightening them at her discretion. “You should not be going at all,” she huffs. “I know better than to try and stop you, but if you come back more hurt than when you left, I'll shoot you.”

Ajay frowns at her, raising one eyebrow. “Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of me healing?”

“Shut up, don't sass me.” She shoves at him lightly. He flinches hard, curling his shoulders in and hunching around his injured side. Amita turns white, and she reaches out to steady him, running her fingers over his bandages with a frantic hand. “Shit! I'm sorry, Ajay.”

He grins at her and she swears again, throwing a halfhearted punch at his face. “Sorry, sorry!” he apologizes, fending her off with his good arm. “I had to, I couldn't help it.”

“You're such an asshole,” she swears, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him. “I should tell Sabal you're too injured to go, then what would you do?”

Honestly? “I'd go anyway, this time alone, and at night,” he says, expression open. It's not what anyone wants to hear, and he knows it but he's been trying to make an effort to be more honest. It'll be easier in the long run when the two leaders inevitably force him to choose between them.

This time, the choice will be harder than ever.

“I know,” Amita murmurs, ducking her head down. “You didn't used to be this reckless, Ajay.”

That's probably true. He's learned an obscene amount of combat tactics in the last hundred some odd time lines, and with each new death, with each new pain, he'd become less and less inclined to save himself. He tries not to think about the times he'd willingly thrown himself off mountainsides, too injured to get to safety and unwilling to die slowly, figuring suicide would be a quicker and more painless death.

Now he knows too much and his eyes are too shadowed when he meets Amita's gaze. “I'm just confident,” he says, with none of the feeling. “Noore doesn't want me dead.”

“She threw you into her arena! Naked!”

_Oh for god's sake._

“ _Why do people keep bringing that up?!_ ” he groans in agonizing embarrassment. “It was bad enough leaping on people with my dick out, I don't need to keep being reminded of it!”

_Oh god, he really just said that._

Amita just laughs, ushering him through the door, and away from the outpost. “Well, it's the most excitement the Golden Path has had for years,” she comments. “And you're prettier to look at than most.”

_Nope._

“New topic!” he begs as Amita walks him down the mountain path, meeting Sabal at the truck.

Sabal smiles over at them where he leans against the trunk, a rifle slung irreverently over one shoulder. “What are you two talking about, hm?” he asks, sounding pleasant instead of hostile for once.

“Nothing,” Ajay says immediately, even as Amita answers:

“Ajay's genitals.”

He blushes madly, hiding his face behind his good hand, under the guise of rubbing his forehead. “Technically,” he says loudly over Amita's laughter and Sabal's indignation, “we were talking about Noore's arena!”

Sabal pauses to take that in for a second before he joins in Amita's laughter. Ignoring them both, Ajay simply gets into the truck, cradling his bad arm against his chest. “We'll contact you once we've gotten Noore,” Sabal tells Amita, still smiling.

“Be careful,” she warns them, and she leans inside the open window of the truck to pat Ajay's good shoulder.

Honestly, it's the most civil the three of them have been in... well, forever. Sabal climbs into the drivers side of the truck and gets them on the road, while Ajay watches Amita in the side mirror. “You know,” he says thoughtfully over Rabi's running commentary, “when you two put your mind to it, you make a good team.”

Sabal snorts. “A temporary truce, only.” He shoots Ajay an amused look out of the corner of his eye. “Her idea of a better Kyrat is drug fields for days, and that... that won't fix anything.”

Ajay sighs. He's heard it all before. “Neither of your ways work, Sabal,” he says frankly.

“Your father,” Sabal begins but Ajay hisses a breath through his teeth at the words. He really doesn't want to hear about his father. The sound makes Sabal pause, glancing at him carefully.

“I don't remember my father,” he says when the silence stretches on. “I grew up without one, in America. I asked my mother once, why I didn't have a father when other kids in school did, and she said that she left him behind to give me a better life because he wasn't willing to come with her.” He frowns a little, staring out the window. “Now I wonder if she was talking about Pagan, but at the time, I just knew that my father was gone and he wasn't coming to tuck me in at night.” He clears his throat, uncomfortable. “When I got older, she told me that he had died, of course, but she never... dated, never re-married. She said she had given her heart away and had no more room for others.”

“Mohan, or Pagan?” Sabal murmurs, but neither of them can answer that question.

Ajay shrugs one shoulder, finally turning to look at Sabal's profile. “If what Pagan says is true, if... Mohan Ghale murdered a little girl, then I don't want to be like him, Sabal.”

“She was Pagan Min's daughter,” Sabal says quietly.

Scowling, Ajay shakes his head. “She was an innocent little girl who had never done a thing wrong in her life. And I don't want to be the kind of person who can make that call.” His mouth twists, flattening out into a thin line. “So, no, Sabal. I don't think your way is right, either.”

“What would you do then?” Sabal asks, but he doesn't sound angry, he seems almost... curious, like he truly wants Ajay's opinion.

Ajay thinks about it for a minute, trying to come up with a good way to put it. “If Pagan was out of the picture? Well, I'd try to blend your ideas and Amita's ideas as best as possible. Keep the opium fields – at least some of them – to supplement income until you can eradicate them entirely. Open the borders to US interests and tourism. Neither a drug state or a religious state work in the end, Sabal. Please tell me you can see that, at least.”

Sabal sighs, shoulders slumping down. “I'll admit that I'm not sure what to do about the money situation,” he says slowly. “I assumed the gold we'd loot back from Jalendu Temple would be enough.”

Wincing, Ajay shakes his head. “... It might help,” he says. “But not for long, and not forever. Just... think about it okay? I don't want to see you turned into Mohan Ghale anymore than I want to see Amita turn into Pagan.”

He nods, reaching over and clasping Ajay's wrist, being mindful of the bandages. “What would I do without you, brother?” he asks, finally smiling again.

“I have no idea,” Ajay answers with honest truth.

Maybe he _can_ make it out of this with everyone he cares for alive.

He thinks of Pagan's expression in the dim light of the foyer when Sabal had called him, so many weeks ago. Maybe his mom wasn't the only one with a weakness for broken men.

*

Infiltrating Noore's arena is way easier said than done when trying to slip around guards as a twosome. Sabal is far more used to raids and assaults, forgetting to crouch down and look around corners before entering new areas.

Generally, when at full health, Ajay prefers silenced weaponry, his recurve bow, the sniper rifle, anything to keep his attacks silent and unnoticed. He's not half bad with his kukri either, but with his left arm more or less still out of commission, he can't use the blade effectively.

At least he's right handed.

Sabal's pistol is silenced, at least, and Ajay had to encourage that for hours before he'd actually listened. Still though, they don't make a bad team. With Ajay's AutoCrossbow, and Sabal's pistol and tanto, they clear their way through the back passages of Shanath Arena, with more or less zero issue.

“This way,” Ajay murmurs in Sabal's ear, directing him towards the control room. “She's in the middle of a match, so she won't be expecting us.”

Sabal nods once, refilling his ammo. “And you're certain she means you no harm?”

Ajay sighs. “The only harm she means is to herself, Sabal.”

They stop talking as soon as the door to the control room comes into view, and through the open door, Ajay can see the Royal army man standing with his back to them. Turning his head to catch Sabal's eye, Ajay nods at their intended victim.

Sabal slips forward on silent boots and dispatches the man quietly, letting him fall into a corner. “Now what?” he asks.

Noore's voice crackles loudly through the arena and several Kyrati men enter the pit, all naked, all unarmed. “We need a distraction,” Ajay says. “I wonder what this button does.”

He leans forward to push one next to Sabal's hip, and lets loose a bear into the arena. Another button brings forth a tiger, and the other one looses a rhino. “Kyra...” Sabal breathes as the animals turn on their Royal Army masters, causing chaos and allowing the Kyrati men to escape through the doors left open.

“What are you doing?” Noore shrieks through the radio still hooked to the dead man. “I said one animal! One!”

In answer, Ajay irreverently presses the button for tigers again, bringing the total to two.

And, to his very great amusement, Sabal leans across him to press the button for a bear.

A small light in the corner begins to flash, the internal alarm system, and Ajay drags Sabal away from the control panel. “Time to go,” he says, only a little regretful. “We need to get ahead of the guards she's sending after us. Come on.”

He hurries them across the hall and down the stairs, ignoring the low snarling of the caged animals. “They're coming,” Sabal murmurs, and Ajay switches his gun to his left hand to drag Sabal into an empty cage with his right.

Six or seven men dash past them, and Sabal takes his pistol and with careful aim, takes out the door on the bears cage nearest to them. With a roar, it bursts free, throwing itself at the unprepared men.

With them busy fighting the animal, Ajay scrambles out of the cage and around the darkened corner, Sabal hot on his heels. “Noore's just out there,” he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. “Cover me.”

He tries to tighten his grip on his pistol, but the fingers of his left hand are weak and he's already so tired. Ajay only has one chance at this, stopping Noore before she can cut herself open, before she can fall.

Momentarily blinded by the arena lights, he comes out just behind Noore, and she whirls to face him. “Ajay!” she breathes, so quietly that he almost can't hear her. “My family?”

Ajay slowly shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Noore.”

She stumbles back a step, her expression crumpled with despair. He takes that moment to lunge, wrapping his good arm around her waist and dragging her backwards into the darkened passageway. Noore kicks and shrieks, twisting like a mad thing, her voice breaking into sobs when he still won't let her go.

Once inside the corridor, and Sabal materializes out of nowhere to hit her in the back of the head.

“Time to go,” Sabal says quickly, taking Noore from Ajay and hoisting her over his shoulder. “Walk fast, brother.”

Getting Noore out of the city is the easiest part of the whole mission, really. They come out the back door, and steal a truck with a back seat to lay her down in, driving around haphazardly to find some place safe.

“Just, let's go to the Homestead,” Ajay finally says, after Sabal chooses and discards six or seven separate outposts. “She'll be safe there, and it's hard to get to by car.”

“But not by buzzer,” Sabal points out even as he takes the turn that will lead them to the Ghale Homestead.

Ajay shoots him an unimpressed look. “True, but I have a buzzer of my own now, when I remember to fly it back there. And there's the Golden Path guard who I can't get to leave, so she has a guard.” Sabal grunts but doesn't respond, frowning at the road. “Hey,” Ajay murmurs gently, reaching out with his good hand to touch Sabal's elbow. “Thank you, for supporting me in this.”

That clears up Sabal's frown, and he turns a smile on Ajay. “What are friends for, brother?” he says, and Ajay feels about a hundred percent better about everything he's gone through this rotation.

This one hasn't gone half bad, and if sometimes he remembers cold green eyes when he looks at Sabal, well... this isn't one of those times. And those times are getting further and farther between. It takes them another fifteen minutes of driving to get to the Homestead, and Sabal lifts Noore carefully to get her out of the car.

Ajay nods to the Golden Path guard sitting at his front door – still has no idea what his name is – and unlocks the house, nudging the door open for Sabal and Noore. “Just put her on a pile of rugs here,” Ajay says. “My bed's up a ladder.”

Sabal lays her there, watching her for a moment or two silently. “I should not be within reach, I think,” he says, a trifle self-deprecating. “Our relationship is rather antagonistic. I'll be outside, should you need me.”

With only one hand, cleaning his weapons is a chore, and making more syringes from his stack of herbs is even harder. There's literally nothing left to do but wait for Noore to wake up. The pistol hit must have been much harder than Ajay's headbutt of de Pleur, as Noore takes quite a bit of time to rouse herself.

To her credit though, she relaxes into the rugs when she sees him and though her expression is hard and her eyes flat, she does not move to attack. “If you'd waited a moment more, I'd no longer be your problem,” she says acidly.

Ajay licks his lips and leans back in his chair, shrugging his good shoulder. “Perhaps. But I think if your husband loved you as much as you loved him, he wouldn't see your committing suicide as a good thing.”

That brings Noore to a seated position. “How would you know?!” she snarls. “He is dead!”

“I don't,” Ajay answers honestly. “But I've come close enough to death lately that it's taught me to be careful about it.” He's sure that all one-hundred-fifteen deaths flicker across his face because she pales and leans forward to look at him closely.

“The things I've done,” she murmurs. “The things I did without his asking me to,” she looks down, away, hunching. “I will not find my family in the afterlife, Ajay.”

The very idea is depressing. “So make up for it. Disband the arena, stop taking money from the prostitution rings. Set up a clinic again, be a doctor. Earn your place in the afterlife, but don't just give up because it's hard.” She jerks back at his last words as though they're an attack, but Ajay doesn't let up. “You fucked up, Dr. Najjar,” he says firmly. “You fucked up hard, and what's worse is you know it. So make up for it, or don't, but don't martyr yourself because you think that's what your husband would want.”

Noore covers her mouth with one hand, taking a shuddering breath. “What would you have me do?” she whispers, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“What did you do before you were Pagan Min's?” Ajay asks, trying to keep it simple. “Do what you know.”

She snorts, dropping her hand. Her eyes are still over bright but she's smiling a little at least. “I doubt the Golden Path would let me open a clinic anywhere near their outposts.”

At that, Ajay smiles. “Who do you think helped me get you from your Arena?” She shrugs a little, expression open but confused. “Sabal did,” he answers himself with a certain amount of glee. If there's one thing he's learn to enjoy about so many time lines and so many memories, is constantly being able to surprise literally everyone.

“He did?” she breathes, rearing back a little.

Nodding solemnly, Ajay says, “yes. The Golden Path is no more happy with your actions than you are. But they have agreed to a neutral space where you can have a clinic.”

“And the condition?” she asks sharply.

With a deep breath that still causes a sharp pain under three ribs on his left side, he unzips his green jacket, peeling it off to expose his shoulder. “Help me with this,” he says simply.

Since he'd forgone a t-shirt – the burns didn't allow for that much chaffing – he knows his skin looks bad. His ribs are still bandaged, cracked, they thought, and his shoulder is still covered in riotous weals.

“Ajay!” she says, visibly horrified. “What-- by _Kyra_ , tell me you have medical supplies.”

He gestures to the cabinet with his good arm. “Over there, I had the Golden Path bring me everything they could.”

“Good. This will not be pleasant.”

It takes four hours and a lot of gauze, but by the end of the session, Ajay's fingers bend more willingly and he's floating on a haze of codeine.

He needs to heal faster, he has a CIA agent to ignore.

*

Ignoring Willis Huntley is surprisingly easy, especially with Ajay's phone out of commission. His arm still hurts but it's a dull throb so he goes back to the brick factory, looking for the things he left behind. Upon Sabal's urging (and Noore's too, having them agree on anything is just _bizarre_ ) he takes with him a contingent of Golden Path guards.

He finds his backpack torn to shreds, and one of the hunters with him details a pack of dhole as the culprits. His bait bag is gone entirely, which is probably the reason for the carnage. His second syringe case is relatively untouched, and his spare set of harnesses are ruined with rain and what looks like chew marks. The trinkets he'd picked up from various places are crushed, flattened or even shattered.

His phone is nowhere in the mess, and using a Golden Path mobile to call it only sends it to an automated voice that tells him his number is out of service. They crawl over the entire area and eventually, after several hours of searching, the hunter finds it. It's half buried under a mound of dirt and debris, and once he pulls it from the ground, it's obvious why the thing doesn't work.

It's been _flattened_. It's actually kind of impressive how broken the phone is. The glass screen pretty much falls out of the case as soon as he picks it up, the case itself didn't survive either, and he discards it as junk. “What do you think happened to it?” he asks the hunter.

“Elephant,” he says succinctly. “You can see the tracks here. Yours too, I think, where you ran.” The man gestures to the large sunken circles in the dirt. “You must have dropped your phone when you fled the area.”

He has a vague memory of it being in his hand when he jumped off the building, so that tracks. “Yeah, probably. I wasn't expecting that patrol to just show up.”

The hunter looks amused, crossing his arms over his chest. “At least you found it.”

Looking down at the phone makes him laugh. “For all the good that does me,” he agrees. Pressing the power button yields nothing, and a quick inspection of the charging port tells him there's no hope there either.

Ah well, he's due for an upgrade anyway. Or he will be if he ever gets out of Kyrat.

Until then, he'll just have to use his radio.

The radio brings him back to the reason he was looking for his phone in the first place. He turns back to the hunter who is watching him curiously, and Ajay knows they were introduced ages ago but he really just can't remember the man's name – and it would be way too rude to ask now. “So,” Ajay says, only slightly uncomfortable. “This had a lot less action than I was expecting.”

The hunter shrugs his shoulders, fiddling with the brace on his left arm. Like Ajay, he seems to prefer the recurve bow, and he offers Ajay a slight smile. “Action or no, we'd never forgive ourselves if we got Mohan Ghale's son killed.”

Fighting not to make a face to that, Ajay just nods. He probably doesn't manage to keep his face neutral because the hunter grins wider, but he doesn't comment so Ajay forges on. “How would you and your group like to help me with something else?”

“Certainly,” he says, fingers twitching in a familiar and telling way. “Like what?”

Phrasing this next thing is going to be interesting.

“I'm more or less sure that another American has been trying to get a hold of me,” Ajay answers. “That's why I was looking for my phone,” he adds, for realism. “But he can't land his plane at the airport because well, obvious reasons. He hasn't asked yet, but if he could, he would.”

Looking intrigued, the hunter is silent as he thinks about it. “Plenty of sniper points,” he agrees. “Could do.”

“It's probably no harder than taking out an Outpost,” Ajay says. “But I'm still not at a hundred percent. And if I fuck up my arm any more Sabal might actually kill me himself.”

The hunter laughs, and pulls out his own phone, a tiny beat up Nokia that has seen better days. “Yeah, don't want to piss him off,” the man says. “I'll call in, tell him the change in plan.”

Ajay watches him out of the corner of his eye as the hunter turns away to talk on the phone. He busies himself with trying to put his pack back together as best as he can. He got a new one from Chiffon, and a new harness to better fit his sniper rifle, since the old one pulled a bit tight. But there are still things in this disaster he wants to save.

His mom's letter is still folded four times and tucked away in a secret pocket, and the small stone carved elephant and tiger he'd found were relatively unharmed. Those three things went back into his bag, zipped up tight and hidden away.

The hunter is suddenly right there, shoving his hand under Ajay's face. “Sabal wants you,” he says with a toothy grin, and practically drops the phone into his lap. While Ajay fumbles with it, he turns away and shouts over to his men, speaking in rapid Nepalese.

“Sabal?” Ajay says into the phone, a little confused.

“Ajay,” Sabal says, all warmth and relief. “Varen says you want to take Teh Meh Airport,” (Varen! That's his name!) “Are you sure that's wise, in your condition?”

 _Oh for..._ “Sabal,” Ajay says firmly, “my condition is fine. Dr. Najjar said I need to exercise it, and we've met no opposition yet.”

With a light laugh, Sabal hurries to placate him. “Alright, alright, I get it. Just, you're absolutely sure?”

Feeling irreverent, Ajay grins. “Sure I'm sure. What's the worst that could happen?” he says lightly.

Sabal makes an interestingly strangled noise on the other end of the line. “Wha- Why would you say that?” he demands. “No, now you're to come straight back to Banapur, clearly you're addled.”

“Addled?” Ajay repeats incredulously. “I'm hanging up on you now.”

“Kyra save me from idiots and headstrong Americans,” Sabal shoots back and Ajay laughs as he hangs up the phone.

“Varen!” he calls and the hunter turns to face him. “Think fast,” he adds, and tosses the phone back to it's owner.

The hunter snatches it out of the air, before giving his men another order in smooth Nepalese and jogging back over to Ajay. “Did you convince him of your continued good health?”

Ajay snorts quietly. “Probably,” he answers. “But we both know that even if Sabal demanded that I come back to Banapur, I wouldn't.”

Varen nods, still grinning. “We've all heard at least one rant from Sabal and Amita about your tendency to disappear.” He gestures to the trucks. “Well, we're ready if you are, boss.”

He nods once. “Let's go.”

*

Halfway to the Airport, Ajay's radio crackles to life and he's momentarily afraid it's Pagan with one of his radio tangents – that could get really awkward – but instead Willis' voice fills the air.

“Ajay Ghale, just the person I was hoping to contact,” he says and Ajay rolls his eyes.

He knows he should just let the man talk but he's probably helped and been betrayed by Willis ninety or so times. He knows the deal, he's willing to help – up to a certain point – but he's really tired of pretending not to know anything. So he clicks on the radio and says, “Hello Mr. Huntley,” as though they're old friends.

The radio is silent for a good minute and a half, and Ajay grins to himself fully prepared to wait out the CIA agent. Finally the radio crackles with static again and Huntley says, “Well, I've got to admit son, I wasn't expecting you to know who I am.”

“You know, funnily enough, I get that a lot,” Ajay answers him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Huntley?”

“Have you heard of the Teh Meh Airport?” Huntley asks him after another beat or two.

Considering they're in radio range for the tower that's there, it's sort of a stupid question. “Of course I do,” he says blithely, the 'duh' going unspoken but clear. “In fact, myself and a team of Golden Path hunters are on our way there now. Which I'm sure you know since your plane only has a short range radio and you've been circling the area.”

The radio goes silent again. Ajay looks over at Varen who is grinning to himself as he drives. “You really don't like this guy do you?” Varen asks when the silence drags on.

“Eh,” Ajay shrugs his good shoulder. “This is fun.”

Huntley clears his throat, the radio sputtering to life again. “Well, you seem to be knowledgeable enough. Mind helping out a fellow patriot?”

“Sure,” Ajay answers. “We'll be there in ten minutes.” It's actually probably closer to five, but he wants to give them some time to take out the six snipers before Huntley lands his plane.

Varen glances over at him. “That's some good timing you have,” he comments.

Ajay nods. “Yeah, before I blew up the last Propaganda center, I used one of the computers to check my email and do some things online. Huntley sent me a few emails about my trip here, at first I thought it was shit, but apparently not.”

Ajay is a big fat lying liar who lies.

But Varen grins, accepting his explanation at face value. “Got a plan, boss?”

“I scouted the place out weeks ago, before the refinery and my injury. There's a lot of snipers, anywhere between four and eight. A few heavys but mostly long range because of their position. We'll need to take out the snipers first.”

This will be so much easier with a group helping him.

Between Varen and Ajay, even with his shoulder injury, they easily take out the six snipers, finishing the last kill shot before Huntley even lands his plane. Using the scope of his rifle, Ajay watches the Commander in charge of the Airport, before handing it over to Varen. “Thoughts?” he asks quietly from their position on the building opposite the Royal Army soldiers.

Varen takes the gun, peering through the upgraded scope. “He's one of the lesser Commanders,” he reports. “But he's in charge of distributing the heroin out to India.”

“So he's a nasty piece of work,” Ajay concludes. “Take him out first,” he adds as a suggestion.

They're forced into silence as Huntley lands his plane, and Varen hisses a breath through his teeth. “I've seen him before,” he says, very softly.

“Oh great,” Ajay mutters, but subsides as soon as Huntley raises his hands in the universal gesture of surrender and begins backing out of the line of fire. “On three,” Ajay murmurs, letting his worries fall away, focusing on the Commander. He raises the sniper rifle and draws in a long, slow breath.

_Ek. Dui. Teen._

The Commander's head explodes in a shower of gore, and the soldiers around him are thrown into a momentary panic when their commanding officer's brain matter sprays all over them.

That's all the excuse the rest of the Golden Path hunters need, they swarm over the gate and into the enclosure, firing off shots and more than one of them sets to exploding red barrels with grenades or explosive arrows.

For causing chaos, it's a perfect distraction for Huntley to duck down and arm himself. Varen and Ajay pick off who they can from their position, but eventually they're forced to leap down and join in a close quarters fight.

One of the Royal army soldiers flings a grenade at them, and Ajay starts scrambling backwards, but Varen just gives him a disdainful look and flings it right back.

It explodes in mid air, but it was badass as hell.

The fight is over embarrassingly quickly, and Ajay glances around for Huntley, absently accepting compliments on his shooting. Varen catches his eye, and nods towards the plane idling on the strip. With an apologetic smile, he breaks away from the two hunters who are enthusiastically thanking him for taking out the heavy from behind, and he makes his way to the plane.

Huntley shoves open the door from the inside. “Well? Come on kid, get in.”

Ajay really, really doesn't want to get into that plane.

He slides into the seat, turning sideways to look at Huntley. “Sorry it took so long,” he says, and though it's mostly sarcasm, it gives him something to say.

Instead of looking offended, Huntley just laughs. “You're a damn sight more effective than the last SoCal douchebag I worked with,” he answers. “And I'm afraid I have another favor to ask of you,” he adds.

He was expecting this, but Ajay really doesn't want to kill more or less innocent operatives for him. He doesn't get a chance to answer because Huntley reaches over and slams a syringe into his leg. “Sorry kid. But you knew a little too much for me to trust you.”

Everything dims and he can hear the plane start to roar, can distantly feel everything lurch forward. “I was going to tell you about your parents,” the man goes on to say. “Convince you to kill off Yuma Lau's generals. But now I think you're already working for her, otherwise you'd never have known my name.” He reaches over and pats Ajay's leg. “You can tell her yourself that you've seen me.”

Well, _shit_.

The plane takes off, and everything goes black.

*

He comes to tied to a chair. There's no black bag over his head, thank Kyra, but the view just makes him queasy. Durgesh Prison never gets any easier to swallow, no matter how many times he's been there. He heaves a sigh, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Ajay's lived a hundred lifetimes and he's never going to get over Durgesh.

He manages a light sort of doze, not quite asleep but not really paying attention either, waiting on Yuma or Pagan or someone to come and tell him what's going to happen next. If things go the way they're supposed to, Pagan is supposed to come in, call him a naughty little shit and then leave him to Yuma's not so tender mercies.

Eventually the door to the cell opens and Ajay lolls his head in that general direction. He smiles when he sees Pagan, because at least that will be normal. “Hi,” he greets when all Pagan does is stare at him. “Don't suppose you're here to bust me out?”

Pagan's baffled expression clears almost instantly, and he shakes his head as he moves into the prison. “I'm sorry to say no,” he says, very quiet, even as he kneels by Ajay's feet. “Honestly, I didn't even know you were here.”

_Okay, what?_

He can't help the frown that he gives Pagan, since Pagan is supposed to have ordered this, supposed to follow the same script that everyone else has fucking been following. “Well, it was worth a try,” he manages to say, trying to smile. “So if you're not here to rescue me, are you my executioner?”

Ajay isn't sure what will happen if he dies now, he's come close, and oh man, his shoulder is _screaming_ at him right now for this position.

“No!” Pagan blurts out, reaching out and touching Ajay's legs, squeezing his knees a little with how tight his grip is.

“So,” Ajay asks, and his nerves are betrayed by the telltale crack in his voice. “Where's Yuma?”

Pagan only shrugs, his eyes shadowed. “Coming, I expect,” he says and Ajay can't read the tone in his voice at all. “Did... you enjoy your time with the CIA?”

How does Pagan even know that he was with Huntley at all? “Not particularly,” he answers, looking away.

“I suppose that's fair, considering,” Pagan says gently, and loosens his grip to pat Ajay's leg. “You know,” he murmurs, gazing up at Ajay, an excruciatingly open look on his face, “I thought you were..”

Yuma slams the door to his cell open with a sharp word in Chinese, and Pagan cuts himself off, letting go of Ajay as though he's been burned. “You've seen him,” Yuma snaps. “You can go now.”

This isn't going the way it's supposed to at all! Ajay turns his gaze back to Pagan, letting his alarm show, widening his eyes and digging his teeth into his lower lip.

But Pagan stands up, using Ajay's good shoulder to balance, giving him a covert squeeze. “You're about to mind-fuck the poor boy, at least let me sugar coat it a bit for him,” Pagan says. And it's almost like the other times, but with Pagan it's always different. Every time, it's just a little bit different. “And, Yuma...” Pagan adds, “do remember that I want him alive and with all the important pieces intact.”

Yuma blinks at him, her face blank before it twists into malice and annoyance. “Christ,” she growls, “this is Ishwari Ghale all the fuck over again. What is it about the Ghale's that makes you _weak_?” she demands, and Ajay chokes a little on the idea. “Get out,” she orders stridently. “I have work to do!”

Pagan doesn't look at him again, and his shoulders are slightly hunched, the back of his neck slightly red. “Fine,” he says, and he almost sounds normal, almost manages to be himself. But Ajay's spent so many of those lifetimes learning Pagan's nuances and _something is not right._

Yuma said he was like his mother.

Could... Could Pagan have feelings for him?

Better question: Could _he_ have feelings for _Pagan_?

He doesn't have a lot of time to think about it, Yuma returns with her handful of dust and the world spirals away on her drugs and poison.

If sometimes, the demons in Durgesh have Pagan's face, under their wide eyed masks, Ajay has long grown used to ignoring them.

*

He comes to in the Homestead. It takes a while for the world to refocus enough to realize Sabal is sitting by his beside, not an uncommon occurrence, and it takes even longer to speak. “... Sabal?” he murmurs.

“Ajay,” he replies, all relief and smiles. “Thank Kyra.”

Blinking slowly to clear his vision, Ajay grumbles, “This is becoming a disturbing habit.”

Sabal nods gravely. “It's been several days. Dr. Najjar was uncertain when you would wake. She believes you had a poor reaction to Yuma's drugs.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, trying to sit up. “You could say that. How did I get here?”

There's a long pause, long enough that Ajay ceases trying to sit up to instead train his gaze on Sabal. For his part, the other man looks discomfited, almost ashamed, when he says, “... Pagan Min rescued you from the base of Durgesh, and brought you to one of our Outposts.”

_What._

“What?” Ajay asks blankly. “But he left me there.”

Sabal winces. “Apparently he felt suitably guilty about that.”

Deciding to deal with that information much, much later, Ajay glances around the room. “Alright, that explains how I got out of the snow. How did I get _here_ , specifically?”

At that, Sabal's expression clears and he smiles. “That was me,” he answers. “I believed you would feel more comfortable in your own home.”

Ajay doesn't think Sabal will ever believe that his home is still California, even after all of this. Instead of refuting it, Ajay nods in agreement. It's definitely more comfortable that the tiny room in Banapur, and the tinier ones in the Outposts. “Yeah,” he says a little belatedly. “Thank you.”

Sabal reaches over and clasps Ajay's hand. “I'm glad you're alright, brother,” he says quietly. “You've been cutting it very close, lately.”

Squeezing Sabal's hand, Ajay pulls a face. “I'll try to be more careful,” he says dutifully even though it isn't his fault that everyone and their brother keeps shooting at him.

“Do that, please.” Sabal stands, his back cracking in multiple places as he does. “I'll let you rest. Radio me if you need anything.”

He's left alone then, in the dim lighting of his father's house, and Ajay flops back in bed. He should try to fall back asleep, but his mind is too full of whirling thoughts. Yuma had implied right before Pagan left, that his feelings for Ajay were making him weak – and Ajay had found and collected enough of her journals to know that she felt that Pagan's love for Ajay's mother made him weak then too.

(Also, seriously who leaves their journals lying around for any discerning citizen to read?)

Finding the journal that proved that Lakshmana was truly Pagan's daughter and that Ishwari had left had been a sobering moment for Ajay. And then to have Yuma confirm everything? One thing is very, very clear to him now: He's going to have to talk to Pagan.

If Pagan has feelings for him though, he's not sure how to respond to that. He can admit that the man is handsome – specific wardrobe choices notwithstanding – and that Ajay isn't exactly the poster child for good relationship choices.

(One relationship led him to heroin. Another led him to cocaine. Another led him to cheating and lies. And the last had led him to guns and fear of jail time. He's... never been the best judge of character.)

Still though, his mother had once seen something in Pagan worth saving. Ajay isn't so blind that he doesn't see much of the same thing. For all Sabal promotes his title of Son of Mohan, he's always been his mother's son.

He needs to talk to Pagan.

*

It takes him a few more days to work up the courage to even get near the Royal Fortress. He passes through it's gates with little to no issue; in fact, one of the guards greets him familiarly and asks him how he's feeling after his tumble in the snow.

He knocks on the door to Pagan's office, when before he might have just walked in without caring for pleasantries or rudeness, but things are a little weird, and it's comforting to hide behind politeness, no matter how thin the veneer.

Pagan seems surprised to see him, raking his gaze over Ajay like he's checking for injuries. “Ajay, my boy! You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

It's a little irritating how Pagan seems so at ease with their conversation already, his voice and face betraying nothing when Ajay is a bucket of nerves.

“Yeah,” he says, a little belatedly. “The doctor says I'm lucky I wasn't in the snow any longer than I was.” He probably should add a thank you to the end of that, but Pagan forges on without giving him a chance to fill the pause.

“I'm glad to hear that, dear boy.”

To make up for the fact that he has no idea how to respond, Ajay leans his shoulder against the door, and slips his hands in his pockets. “I guess I owe you some thanks,” he says, because sticking with the classics works for him. “Sabal says you're the one who dropped me off at the outpost and Noore...” _Oops_. “... The doctor, I mean, she said that if I'd been left out there, unconscious I'd either have bled out or lost all use of my shoulder.”

But Pagan waves that away, still smiling. “I don't care that Noore works for you now. Considering what I did to her, defection is a small price to pay.” He looks away, for the first time in the conversation. “I am sorry though, about Yuma. If I thought she would listen to me, I'd send her out of the Country.”

That's... actually surprisingly sweet, considering. “Yeah...” Ajay says, tensing in memory. “I could have done without the drugs.”

“So,” Pagan says, brightly. “Not that I don't appreciate the house call to let me know you're safe, I'm getting the feeling that it isn't entirely the reason you're here. Talk to me, darling.”

Ajay has no idea how to answer that inquiry. So he pulls Yuma's journals out of his pocket and hands it to Pagan. “Here.”

It's pretty obvious that he recognizes them, because he barely looks at them. “These are Yuma's,” he says, sounding a bit unhappy.

“I know. Read them.” Pagan instead stares at Ajay as though trying to read his face rather than the writing, and Ajay pointedly turns his gaze down towards the pages until Pagan subsides with a sigh.

“Yuma has always felt so,” he says after he puts them down “She idolized me once, but hated your mother for... making me weak.”

Sticking his hands back in his pockets for something to do, Ajay nods and keeps his eyes trained on the desk. “She accused you of having the same weakness for me.”

He keeps his face purposefully blank, wondering how Pagan will answer. He's not really sure what he'd prefer, but really, all Ajay wants is for the man to be honest. They'll work out the fine details later, if they must.

“Of course she said that,” Pagan says, sounding vaguely amused. “You represent everything she hates in me. Ishwari Ghale changed me, irrevocably, and probably for the better. But before your mother, before her love, I was... very much like Yuma. I trained her, from a young age, I taught her everything she knows about cruelty.” There's a measure of sadness in his face as he folds the pages back up neatly. “I told you before, I am not a kind man, nor am I a good one. Ishwari made me better... for a time.”

That doesn't really answer his question, at all.

Feeling suddenly exhausted with all the hiding he's had to do, Ajay enters the room fully and sinks into an open chair. “Yeah,” he says, “But that doesn't explain why she thinks you're in...” _Nope, not going there._ “... you know. With me.”

“It does, I suppose, if you're Yuma. She only sees the things I have done on the outside perspective. I've left the Palace more than I ever have in years, I've – well, I've rescued you from her, and allowed you more liberties than any other.”

_Bingo._

“And why is that?” Ajay asks, looking up. “Because I'm Ishwari's son?”

Pagan's entire expression folds in on itself to be replaced with horror and self-loathing.“Of course not!”

He's not sure what exactly but... “Stop lying to me, Pagan.” He stands up. “I've got to go.”

The pure panic on Pagan's face is nice to see, at least. “Wait! Ajay.” He waits the monarch out, lingering at the door. “You earned my respect long ago. Your blood didn't do that, only you.” Pagan smiles at him, and it's a gentle thing. “It's no secret I wish for you to replace me.”

That's really, really, not where Ajay was hoping this conversation was going to go. “You never did manage to have that heir,” he murmurs, remembering a previous conversation. “I'm not a King.”

“You could be.”

 _Only with you_ , he thinks and he's not ready – they're not ready – for him to say that. So he takes the easy way out: “Good bye, Pagan,”he murmurs, and escapes.

He's such a _coward_.

*

He knows he has to go to Banapur, but he's more or less resigned to ignoring Amita and Sabal. Their combined stares are getting to be a bit much, like they know something he doesn't. And honestly, the feeling is a little silly because he's done every song, every dance, every permutation of every outcome that he's very, very certain he knows literally _everything_.

(Well except how Pagan _actually_ feels about him, because Kyra forbid he actually tells the truth about anything.)

He goes around South Kyrat – _no_ , he's not avoiding Pagan too, _not at all_ – just doing random odd jobs. He runs a few supply errands for Gopi, and helps out Bahni and Pranav with their escorts, or just kicks around Bell Towers.

Sabal has radioed him a few times but Ajay's pretending not to hear, he's not dealing well at all, it only took a hundred times of dying to develop PTSD, he thinks somewhat bitterly, and heaves himself up onto the ledge of the Bell Tower. He's vaguely reminded of the one rotation where he fell and landed on something sharp enough to nearly sever his spine, how he died clutching his radio and listening to Sabal's sobbing breaths.

(Since that time line, he's worn his radio on the front of his belt, rather than the back.)

Looking down at the ground from his current position stabs him with a shock of vertigo so extreme he gets cold and lightheaded, swaying dangerously. The adrenaline surge from that sends him staggering backwards and Ajay's forced to zip line to the ground, shaking, and sweating.

He's so _glad_ no one is around to see that. He huddles by the stone blocks and a Mani wheel trying to get his breathing under control when his radio suddenly bursts to life, startling him badly and nearly sending him over again. “Ajay!” Pagan Min cries, through static and fabric and Ajay's pounding heart in his ears. “I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of having a new suit made up for you.”

_Oh. Ohh, thank Kyra. It's the zippered meat pockets radio tangent._

“If you are to lead Kyrat when this is all over, you're going to need a sharper look than denims and fucking sneakers, my boy!” Pagan continues like his voice isn't the only thing keeping Ajay grounded.

“Hey!” Ajay manages to say, tightening his grip on the radio, making it creak dangerously. “What's wrong with my sneakers?”

There's a pause, but Ajay can hear Pagan breathing on the other end of the line, slightly labored and too deep. “They're not very classy,” he eventually settles on, heavy with doubt. “No one is going to take you seriously, a leader without the proper clothing. Does Sabal wear sneakers? No he does not!”

Ajay can absolutely imagine that Pagan has critiqued Sabal and Amita's entire wardrobe and found it wanting. “I can't say I've ever paid much attention to what's on his feet,” he says absently, his limbs loosening a bit. “But if I'm not paying attention to it, his footwear is probably pretty inoffensive.”

“Or you're blind,” Pagan says bluntly. “That's probably more likely.”

That makes him chuckle because that's probably true. He wears clothing for comfort, not style. But the whole conversation reminds him of many he's had with Mr. Chiffon, though to a slightly different flavor. “You're not going to tell me to be fierce, are you?” he asks, smiling.

Pagan gives an exaggerated gasp, so much so that his voice squeaks a bit. “If you've been talking to Mumu Chiffon and he hasn't gotten you out of those ghastly denims, he is not the man he once was!”

 _What_!

“Pagan!” Ajay hisses into his radio like the wildlife is listening in, “I'm not going to _sleep_ with Mr. Chiffon!”

“Good,” Pagan growls darkly. “Don't.” Ajay stares at the radio, all thoughts of flashbacks and falling driven from his mind. “But seriously,” Pagan says a moment later, light and airy. “Those sneakers.”

He's drunk. Or drugged. “When was the last time you slept, Pagan?” Ajay asks quietly.

“I don't even know, dear boy. A few days ago, maybe?” That's... yeah, that makes a lot of sense, now. “Some coke and caffeine and all's well, don't you worry your pretty little head about me.”

Definitely sleep deprived. No one in their right mind would call him pretty. Ever. “Oh my God, Pagan, go to bed!” Ajay hisses, a little horrified. “No more coke! No more caffeine, you need to _sleep_.”

Pagan only laughs softly, his breath puffing strangely over the radio. “Don't worry so much, Ajay,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “I've got a good few years left to me. I'm hard about to expire if I don't sleep.”

The sound Ajay makes to that is slightly agonized because if this is what his mother had to deal with when he was just a child, he does not envy her in the slightest. “Do it for me then,” he says carefully. “Get some rest. I promise I won't blow anything up, or get shot until you wake up.”

There's a slight pause, and when Pagan speaks again, his smile is obvious in his voice. “Can I hold you to that, darling? You won't blow up my gold statue, and I won't get any reports of your dying an untimely death?” He yawns, the sound quiet and almost kittenish, cutting himself off.

Pagan is really obsessed with that damn gold statue. “I won't blow up your gold statue,” he says gently. “And no reports.”

“I suppose that's good enough.” He yawns again, then says, all in a rush, “Come to dinner with me, later today.”

Ajay has to pause for a second, for two reasons. One, Pagan's just asked him out on a date. Or at least something that sounds a lot like a date. Two, there's the telltale rumble growl of a bear in the area and that's never good for anyone. A moment later someone screams and gunfire fills the air. “Yeah okay,” Ajay says quickly, standing and searching for the origin of the sounds. “Dinner. Radio me when you wake up, I... have to go kill a bear.”

He clips the radio on his belt and yanks out his bow, sliding to the edge of the small ledge the Bell Tower rests on. Three civilians are below him, backing up wildly from the bear that's advancing on them. He crouches low, aiming carefully. He has literally one shot to make this before someone loses their life.

With a twang and thwack, the arrow hits its mark, burying itself into the eye of bear as soon as it stands up on two legs. It bellows in pain, swiping at it's face while the family runs away, using the distraction as intended.

Ajay readies another arrow, catching the bear under it's jaw, and then another into the bulk of it's chest. The thing staggers two steps, one step then falls with a thud and a low moan of pain.

“Awesome,” Pagan says, mumbling, half asleep. “Can't wait.”

Absently, Ajay flicks the radio back on and replies, “Me either, Pagan.” But he never gets another response, and he busies himself with retrieving what arrows he can.

It takes him a while to gather up enough bait and meat for the village near by, and by the time he's done, he's covered in reddish brown stains and stinks like entrails and rot. It's not his most attractive look, and he has some momentary panic before he finally turns and heads up towards Mr. Chiffon's cabin in the mountains.

He'll have just enough time to shower there, and change into his rapidly dwindling spare clothing from America.

Seems like the fashion designer is going to get him out of his jeans after all.

*

When darkness falls and Ajay still hasn't heard from Pagan, he waffles about the North King Bridge before finally deciding to just go and see if Pagan is okay. They're not... friends, not exactly, but they've managed an interesting facsimile nonetheless.

It's also possible that Pagan had completely forgotten about making dinner plans and would be surprised upon seeing him. In light of that, Ajay spends another ten minutes deliberating a few hundred yards away from the Royal Fortress, just out of sight of any snipers.

Finally after four patrols wander past without even seeing him, which really doesn't speak highly of their ability to protect anything worth a damn, Ajay makes his way up through the Fortress. Standing in the pool of light in front of the doors is a familiar captain – the one who had driven up the first time, and the one who always let him through the other times.

After watching him for a moment, he steps out of the shadow he's been hiding in right in view of the captain.

The man startles, staggering a step back with his gun pointed directly between Ajay's eyes. There's probably something a little wrong with him that he doesn't even react to that sort of threat anymore. So he raises one eyebrow, adopts a neutral pose and says, “Pagan invited me.”

The gun lowers slowly, and the captain sighs. “It would be really helpful if he told us that.”

That makes him smile, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It was a few hours ago, and I think he forgot.”

The other man snorts, waving him through the doors. “The last time I was up at the Palace, the King had been asleep. Come, I will take you.” He leads Ajay to a car off to one side of the road. “By the way,” he adds as they get inside. “I'm Naveen Ruari, just ask for me if someone here is giving you trouble.”

Ajay's a bit taken aback, really. He offers a smile, hoping it doesn't look as strained as it feels. “Well, I'm Ajay Ghale,” he adds. “I mean, obviously.”

Naveen chuckles, starting the truck and maneuvering it onto the road. “It's nice to actually meet you,” he says lightly. “Pagan is quite taken with you.”

That's a little surprising, really. “I... really?”

With a nod and a short laugh, Naveen agrees, “You should hear him, he's very... talkative.”

“That could be worrying,” Ajay murmurs.

They pass the rest of the drive in silence, but it's easy, which Ajay gives a brief thought to. Most of the time he can't manage to have comfortable silence with his two actual friends, and introducing anyone else to that mix makes for explosive results. (There's an unhealthy amount ' _down with the infidel outsider_ ' with Sabal's inner circle, and an even more amount of ' _American raised, teach us your ways_ ' from Amita's inner circle – all women, all feminists, all really, really frightening.)

Naveen brings him to an office, and murmurs in quiet whispers to the maid that stands within. Ajay's close enough to hear but it's all in that strange flowing Nepalese he should really have bothered to learn.

A moment later, the maid brings them two glasses and a bottle of something and Naveen gestures to a seat. “The King went to bed and asked not to be disturbed very early this morning, after General Yuma left.”

He can't help the flinch at her name. Naveen's expression softens a bit and pours him a glass of the drink. “Well,” he says lightly, “you're welcome to stay until he wakes – unless you've somewhere else to be.”

Taking a sip of the alcohol, and finding it to be scotch, Ajay settles into his chair. “No, nothing better than this.” He sinks into the plush velveteen, and sighs. “This is actually relaxing.”

Naveen snickers, sitting in the chair opposite. “Sitting in a room in enemy territory, sharing drink with an enemy commander? That's relaxing to you?”

Ajay shrugs one shoulder. “Pagan isn't my enemy. Though that doesn't explain why you're being so friendly.”

Toasting Ajay with his drink, Naveen snickers. “I'm an Imperial Army Commander so I cannot be kind?”

“Uh, well... not in my experience,” Ajay answers honestly, taking another sip of his drink. “Honestly, most of the Imperial Army commanders that I've dealt with are screaming that they have eyes on me and trying to blow my head off.”

Wincing, Naveen tops off their glasses. “The soldier who shot you after the Factory, the King had him killed.”

“That... should probably bother me more than it does.” Ajay's mouth twists. “But then again, I think I've become pretty jaded.”

Naveen snorts, and is about to say more when Pagan stumbles into the room, hair disheveled, without his garishly pink jacket and his sleeves rolled up. “Well,” he drawls from the doorway, “now this is a surprise.”

Ajay grins, leaning against the glass in his hand. “Someone promised me dinner,” he tells Pagan somewhat smugly.

There's a very slight pause, and Pagan deflates. “So I did.”

“I took the liberty of keeping the kitchen staff awake,” Naveen comments after clearing his throat to kill the awkward silence. “I told them you had a late dinner meeting. You only need to call down and inform them.”

Pagan blinks at that, gazing over at the Commander. “You know,” he says after a lengthy pause. “I'm beginning to wonder what I did without you, Naveen.”

That Pagan is so familiar with the captain is a little surprising. But Naveen just grins, putting down his glass. “Let's hope you never have to find out, boss. Good night.” He turns to Ajay, bowing a little – a sign of respect that Ajay had never hoped to achieve in Kyrat – and then leaves them alone.

The silence grows a bit awkward again, and Pagan slowly lowers himself to Naveen's forfeited seat. “You slept for a while,” Ajay comments. “I know I said I would wait until you called but..” He runs his fingers through his hair, a little embarrassed. “I got bored.”

“Sabal hasn't given you anything new to do? He's wasting your talent, he really is, dear boy,” Pagan says, as he reaches for a glass of scotch.

Ajay looks away, and fights to keep his expression even. There's nothing really going on between him and Sabal but there's definitely something the other man isn't tell him, and Ajay is so tired of secrets. He must have been lost in his thoughts for a long moment, because he startles when Pagan slides out of the chair and kneels at his feet – like he did in Durgesh.

“Ajay?” he says, soft, gentle.

“Sabal and I aren't seeing exactly eye to eye, right now.” Ajay relaxes as Pagan rubs a soothing hand against his knee. “I can't really blame him, he's spent his whole life working towards a goal and I fell into his country and fucked it all up.” He shivers, thinking of the expression on Sabal's face in the original time line, thinking of the day he caught Sabal murdering the people who did not agree with him at Jalendu Temple. “He wants me to kill you.”

It's true, probably. Sabal hasn't asked him yet, but he always does in the end.

“Of course he does. I effectively stole his country,” Pagan answers, dry.

Before this rotation, that might have been true. “That isn't why.” He tenses a little, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “He's horror stricken over what Mohan did, the Taru-- Bhadra is everything to him. But... he told me I had to chose, you or him.”

There was one time line where that was fact, even if it hasn't come to pass now. But there have been so many different times, so many awkward decisions that he doesn't really remember which ones have happened – or which ones will happen.

Pagan is quiet, hands still on Ajay's knees. “Okay,” he murmurs, looking up through the fringe of his hair. “What do you want to do, my boy?”

Whenever Pagan is kind, Ajay wonders what might have been.

“I wish you'd show the rest of the world the man that's kneeling in front of me.”

That makes Pagan laugh, the sound soft but seemingly genuine, rising to his feet. “Oh my dear boy,” he says, fond. “The man that kneels in front of you only exists because of you.” He sighs, picking up his glass and gazing into it. “I made this bed, Ajay. I do not regret it... but I do regret that Sabal is making you choose.” He refills the glass, expression flickering in the dim lighting. “Take Yuma.”

Startled, Ajay puts his glass down before he drops it. “I uh,” he says, confused, “don't really want her?”

At least he can make Pagan laugh. “Well if the choice is down to Yuma or me, I'd much rather you pick me too,” he says in response, and Ajay blinks a few times. “But, that isn't exactly what I meant. In a few days, I'm making a statement, since I've not been seen in the general public for ages. I'll... let you know where Yuma is, and you can take her out which will hopefully appease Sabal.”

Things really are different this time around, Ajay muses, leaning back in his chair. Before all this, Pagan would never have suggested giving up Yuma. “I've already taken care of Paul and Noore,” Ajay points out. “If I remove Yuma from the equation, then logically, you're next anyway.” He presses his lips together, thinking. “I suppose this is what I get for playing both sides of the fence.”

Pagan shakes his head, and he says, “I fear that was more my fault than yours, dear boy.” He finishes his drink, and when he puts the glass down, his fingers are visibly shaking.

Whatever is going through Pagan's mind, it leaves his eyes empty and hollow, his expression bordering on desolate and unhappy. Ajay thinks back to the first lunch invitation, before Darpan started screaming and Pagan talked about men loving only in hindsight.

He thinks he gets it now. Maybe he doesn't love Pagan, not like his first flash of infatuation with Sabal that ended when his life did. But there's something there, a pull or a chain between them that stretches with the distance but doesn't seem to break.

And he's not ready yet, he cannot face it, cannot face that he's truly his mother's son, to fall in love with a murderer.

So he takes a deep breath, adverts his eyes, and shuts the monarch out. “Thanks for the drink, Pagan.”

Pagan stands up, his own expression smooth and blank. “I suppose that means I should start composing my speech then,” he says, but there's little emotion in his voice. “Something flashy, ear catching. Clearly, I need more coke for this.”

Downing most of his drink in one shot, Ajay grins at him, letting the alcohol mellow his fear. “Bring it on?”

“That is a lovely concept, yes.” Pagan looks down at the computer screen, illuminating his sorrowful expression. “She's my adoptive sister.”

“I know.” And for once, he's sorry for it.

The sorrow clears slowly on Pagan's face but by the time he looks up again to smile, there's nothing left of it. “You should go back to the Homestead, darling. Get some sleep.”

Downing the scotch that fast has made him dizzy, but Ajay stands and smiles back, giving Pagan his hand. “Good night, Pagan.”

He'd really only meant to shake hands, but when Pagan slides his fingers into Ajay's, his hands are warm and calloused and Ajay pulls him into a hug. He holds Pagan tightly and Pagan freezes in surprise. “... Ajay?”

Squeezing one last time, Ajay says, “Sorry,” and lets go. “Scotch goes straight to my head. And I didn't get dinner.” He backs up, keeping his eyes on Pagan's forehead rather than meeting his gaze. “Looking forward to your speech, Pagan.”

He escapes then, cursing himself for a fool.

This isn't fair to either of them.

*

Ajay's listened to Pagan's speech so many times he practically has it memorized. _Blah blah blah_ , rumors of his death are greatly exaggerated, _blah blah_ , Noore and Paul have moved on, _blah_ , Yuma is a sentinel, _blah blah blah_ , bring it on, _blah blah snore._

He stands in the back of the tent - “Shut up Amita, I'm not looming!” - to watch, because he came in about half way through the speech. He'd been in the middle of something when he'd gotten the call, and hadn't rushed to get there.

Pagan grins the at the camera, as he tells the whole world where Yuma Lau is hiding out, and Sabal turns wildly in his seat to catch Ajay's gaze. “Think he's telling the truth?” Bahni asks, from Ajay's side.

Ajay shoots her a sidelong look. “Think we can afford to believe otherwise?” he asks in the same tone.

Once the speech is over, and the TV goes dark, Sabal makes his way over to Ajay, followed by Amita. “Is it just me, or did Pagan just offer up Yuma on a silver platter?” one of the Golden Path says as he exists the building.

That causes everyone to exchange a concerned look, even if Ajay's is more or less feigned. “Do you think it's a trap?” Amita asks, leaning in to speak quietly.

Ajay shrugs one shoulder. “If it is, I don't think it's a trap for me.”

Sabal frowns, all brotherly concern. “How can you be certain?”

Pained, Ajay shakes his head. “If we're going to talk about that, we shouldn't do it here.”

He meets Sabal's eyes and gives the room – still half full – a significant look. In answer, Amita suddenly whirls on them and begins shouting in Nepalese, and as soon as she starts, Sabal is crowding her space and giving her as good as he's getting. Ajay doesn't need to fake his suddenly terrified expression, and he backs away from them hurriedly.

Whatever they're shouting about – he catches a few things he recognizes, like his name, and Yuma, and random other words – but the room empties alarmingly quickly, leaving him to his fate.

As soon as the tent flaps close, and if they could be slammed, who ever was last out the door would have made it happen, Amita cuts herself off mid word, breathing hard. “I'm not sure if we should be offended,” she comments lightly.

“We certainly do know how to clear a room,” Sabal replies, smiling.

Smiling? “That was an act?” Ajay hisses, mortified. “Are you serious right now?”

Sabal shrugs, still looking amused. “You said you wanted to speak alone,” he says pointedly. “Now, we are alone.”

 _Oh brother_.

Now that their audience is gone, Amita and Sabal both pin him with their combined stares. “So,” Amita says. “Are we going to talk about this?”

“Wait, talk about what?” Ajay asks, stumbling over his words. “I thought we were going to talk about a plan.”

Amita snorts. “Would you follow it if we gave you one?”

“That's not fair,” Ajay says, wounded. “Why are you two suddenly picking on me, what is going on?” He doesn't mean to shout it, but really, he'd been avoiding them on purpose.

Sabal puts a hand on Amita's arm, and she subsides without a fight. He needs to start looking for pods in the basements of Banapur, that settles it. “Look brother,” Sabal says gently, “we've asked a lot of you. We... didn't always realize it, how much danger we've put you in. I realized it after we rescued Noore, how little you'd be used to our lives.”

Ajay is already shaking his head. “No,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and clenching his fingers over the scars in his left elbow. “It's not like you put a gun in my hand and I didn't know how to use it.”

“I did mention that,” Amita says, and she reaches out to free Ajay's arm from his own grip. “And we didn't ask because you seemed content to never speak of it.”

“But it's become increasingly clear,” Sabal adds, “that something is wrong.”

Holy shit, this is an _intervention_.

“... I'd hoped,” Sabal is still speaking, “that you'd be comfortable enough to speak to us, in your own time. But you've not set foot in Banapur since your fall from Durgesh.”

“Yeah well,” Ajay mutters, stung, “it's sort of on the other side of the entire country and I've been busy.”

Sabal steps forward and takes Ajay's other hand, leaving all three of them connected. Sabal to Amita to Ajay to Sabal. “Brother,” Sabal murmurs. “What happened?”

His voice is so gentle and quiet that Ajay can feel panic starting to well under his breastbone. He's never wanted to tell anyone so badly before, not even when his memories over lap, or when he slips up and responds to things before they happen. The memory of his panic attack at the top of the Bell Tower is fresh in his mind, and he can't get in enough air.

“Ajay?” Amita says, but she's far away and under water. “Shit! He's hyperventilating. Ajay, breathe!”

His vision is just starting to tunnel and the ground he can't stop staring at has swirls of red leaves even though they're inside, when his back collides with a firm chest. Sabal's voice is in his ear, clear over the sound of rushing water, “Breathe with me, brother.”

He can feel Sabal's chest rising and falling steadily, and he drags in a lungful of air even though it causes stabbing pain between his ribs. He breathes with Sabal, rapidly at first, but slowing quickly, and just leans against his friends, letting them take his weight for a minute or five.

Ajay returns to awareness to find himself on his knees with his forehead pressed against Amita's stomach. Her hands are in his hair, her nails raking gently in time to their breathing. Sabal is just behind him, and they're pressed back to chest without an inch of space between them.

He is, without any shadow of a doubt, mortified.

When he finally gathers the strength to look up at Amita, her eyes are wet with tears and her lower lip trembles. She looks exactly like she did the day he'd gone to kill her half a hundred rotations ago. (He'd never managed to actually do it, though, in part because of this look.)

“By Kyra,” she says, quietly, sweeping her fingers over his forehead. “What have we done to you?”

_Crap._

Ajay shakes his head. “You didn't do anything,” he answers, his voice is wrecked and his chest hurts, but he feels better than he has. “I did this to myself.”

“How do you feel, brother?” Sabal asks, disengaging from their awkward position to sit on the floor by Amita's feet.

“Better, thanks.” He coughs, discomfited. “Sorry.”

Amita flicks him in the temple. “Don't.”

Sabal reaches out to nudge Ajay's shoulder. “We can send someone else from the Golden Path to take care of Yuma,” he says quietly.

It's tempting, but... “No,” Ajay answers. “It has to be me... Someone else might get it wrong.”

He knows her moves, knows where she'll be before she'll get there. He can do it with the minimum of bloodshed or drugs or hallucinations. “Are you sure?” Amita asks, and she crouches to be on eye level with him. “If you're not... If you don't want to, we can handle it, Ajay.”

“Oh God, stop being so nice to me,” he complains, but he smiles at her to take the sting away. “Look, can we just pretend that I didn't have a panic attack and go about our day?”

“We can if it's the first one you've had,” Sabal says, scowling fiercely.

Ajay's really not a very good liar. “... Sure. Totally was.” When both Amita and Sabal look horrified and vindicated all at once, Ajay holds up a hand to stall them from speaking. “It's only been two and I'm alright. Okay? I'll deal with it when I have to, but not doing anything will make it worse.” He shivers a little, thinking of the panic attack that nearly knocked him off the Bell Tower. “I'll take care of Yuma because the bitch deserves it, and then I'll take a break.”

Amita narrows her eyes at him, a calculating look on her face. “What did she do to you, when you were at Durgesh?” she asks, shrewdly.

He gets to his feet, because he needs distance and maybe to never, ever think about this again.

“She drugged me,” he says shortly. “I had... some interesting hallucinations.” Both Sabal and Amita are quiet, giving him their undivided attention. “She drugged me,” he repeated. “And she raped me.”

Both Amita and Sabal flinch back at his words, but he's gotten used to it – whenever he gets as far as Durgesh, it happens every time. It's just another chore in helping the Golden Path. Never mind that he doesn't like women, never mind that if he'd been a woman, it would have been much worse. Never mind that.

He's _fine_.

“Alright, brother,” Sabal says quietly. “Do you have a plan?”

Ajay snorts. “Find Yuma. Kill Yuma. Don't die.”

He doesn't give them anymore time to speak, he ducks through the tent flap and beelines for the nearest ATV. It's the cowards way out, but lately he's been really good at choosing that for himself.

Maybe he is his father's son after all.

*

Yuma has always been as predictable as everyone else, and Ajay tightens his grip on his pistol. The cave is empty but for the body of a dead miner, and he slips through the hole in the rock to scout there as well. Though Yuma always appears in the same place at his side, he's never quite figured out where exactly she hides herself. No matter how far he goes into the cave, there's no sign of her, her men or anything alive.

Giving it up, she'll appear no matter how far he's gone, no matter how much time passes since he'd entered the cave, he makes his way back to the main chamber. He stands at the alter to Kalinag, murmuring a quiet prayer to the mythical archer to keep his aim true. And, just as it happens every time, there's a scrape of stone that signifies Yuma's arrival. It's sort of refreshing after dealing with Pagan's changeable interactions and the Golden Path suddenly caring about his mental health.

He counts out the minutes quietly to himself, and when the allotted time has passed, he turns, a moment before Yuma's hand extends. She looks startled when he grabs her wrist, twisting her hand down to dump her hallucinogenic powder on the ground.

“Not this time,” Ajay grunts, and digs his pistol into her side. “The only weakness here is you.”

A hundred time lines flash through his mind and he pulls the trigger on her shriek. The sound of the gunshot echoes in the cave strangely, and he drops her limp arm to the ground. Dust swirls up around her, and Ajay sneezes.

Yuma's body flickers oddly, and Ajay wipes at his face. “Oh _come on_ ,” he shouts, the words distorted. “It fell on the floor!”

He stumbles over Yuma's body, as the world tilts on it's axis. The cave swirls around him on red light and the sound of chimes, and when Ajay turns around again, he's face to face with another man. He jerks backwards, bringing up his gun but the man just smiles, holding out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

A flash of something catches Ajay's attention, and he turns his head to see a white tiger leap out of the rock to their left and settle in at the man's feet. Red leaves swirl around them for a second before the wind – wind? He's in a cave! - settles, leaving a carpet of petals in a circle around them. The man smiles, and Ajay slowly lowers his gun.

He gets the feeling it won't do him any good here.

“Tapā'īṁ ta rāmrō kāma garēkā chan,” the man says, his wide smile splitting his face.

He's also pretty sure that his hallucinations should speak a language he understands. “I'm sorry... I... don't know what you're saying.”

But the man only smiles wider, and drops one of his hands to stroke over the head of the tiger that lay docile at his feet. “Ma timīlā'ī dhērai dukhā'i kāraṇa du: Khī chu.”

At his words, still not understandable, the tiger pads forward, causing the red leaves to swirl around them again, and Ajay is struck with a flash of memory so strong he crashes to his knees. “You were there, at the brick factory, you pulled me from the water.” He frowns, trying to think past the thick lassitude of Yuma's drugs. “And, the other times... when I f-fell from the Bell Tower, and when S-Sabal killed me.” The man inclines his head, bowing very slightly. “Why?”

The man crouches in front of him, and Ajay blinks rapidly as blue, orange and white light flicker over his skin. “Yō ēka pakṣa thiyō. Āphnō āmā.”

In the flickering light, Ajay can see the bow and quiver over his shoulder, and the red leaves swirl up in the mysterious wind, ruffling his jacket. “What's your name?” he whispers, the sound echoing.

The man reaches out and touches his chest, over his heart. “Ma Kalinag hum̐,” he says.

Kalinag. “No way.” Ajay stares up at him, blinking hard. “You've been bringing me back? Every time? For a hundred times?” Kalinag nods, his smile fading a little at the despair in Ajay's tone. “By Kyra, why?”

Kalinag reaches out and strokes a hand down the tigers back, and the animal purrs loudly, nudging for more. “Ishwari Ghale,” Kalinag answers. “Pagan Min.”

“You're doing this... for them?” Kalinag nods again. Ajay heaves a deep breath. “Now what? Am I finished?”

The question makes Kalinag smile and he reaches out to raise Ajay to his feet. “Tapā'īṁ kēṭā, khatarā ajhai chan. Ma Pagan Min tapā'īnlā'ī hunēcha.” The tiger rubs up against his legs and when Ajay looks up again, he's standing in front of the doors to Pagan's palace.

The tiger, the warrior and the red leaves are gone.

*

The world is tilting and whirling and the sky is changing colors as he stumbles his way through the doors. He manages to make it to the office, but everything is too bright, too much. Pagan is glowing, where he sits at his desk, and he's so much more than Ajay deserves.

“I got her,” he murmurs, trying to be quiet, it's late, Pagan should be asleep, not waiting up for murderers like him. Pagan stands immediately, and Ajay crashes into him, his legs unresponsive and he's so _exhausted._ “She wasn't expecting me to know she was there, but she's not as clever as she thinks she is.”

With gentle hands, Pagan takes him to one of the comfy chairs in front of his desk, the same one where they'd had scotch together. “Are you injured?” he asks, refusing to give Ajay back his hands.

“No,” Ajay says, because for once, it's true. “But when she fell, there was this powder. Everything is really... really... weird.” He rubs his eyes, trying to clear away the colors dancing around like halos. “But I wanted you to know first.”

Instead of responding to that, Pagan simply pulls Ajay back up, wrapping his arms around Ajay's waist. “Alright. Come on, dear boy. Her tricks pack quite the punch, so to bed with you.”

Ajay giggles, and his mouth _will not stop talking._ “So, you want to take me to bed now?”

Pagan's fingers tighten on Ajay's waist, skin against skin where his jacket has rucked up over his jeans. “I always want to take you to bed, darling. Let's go. Chop chop.”

Well that's very interesting. Ajay can't seem to walk in a straight line – which is irritating because he was _fine_ when he was talking to Kalinag – but he manages to follow along with Pagan, taking his hands when Pagan lets him go. “Sabal is going to be so angry if I don't check in tonight,” he says cheerfully, to tell Pagan that he's chosen.

Instead of kissing him, or acting pleased, Pagan snorts, sounding put off. “Sabal will wait.”

Ajay lets Pagan push him into a room, but he grabs at the fabric framing Pagan's throat, trying to look him in the eye. “He hates that you have my attention,” he murmurs quietly, clinging. “That you're stealing me away.” He leans in, close enough to kiss. “Sabal is jealous man, you know.”

Whatever Pagan had been planning to is obviously derailed by that. He pushes Ajay backwards until he lands on the bed, and hisses, “Are you sleeping with Sabal?!”

“Psh, no.” Ajay says, flopping backwards onto the sinfully comfortable bed. “He's way too into Kyra and Banashur, and religion. He's not into me. Calls me brother.”

That makes Pagan smile, which makes him look years younger. “Kinky,” he says, and begins tugging of Ajay's gloves. “Jacket, Ajay. You don't want to sleep in that do you? Off, off!”

“Yeah, don't wanna sleep in my jacket. Too many zippers.” He laughs, quietly, trying to cover his mouth, and pressing his face into Pagan's arm. “For the record though, I don't keep my chunks of meat in my jacket. No matter how many zippered pockets. I've got a bag for that.”

Oh good, this is a _much_ safer topic.

“Sneakers, denims, bags of meat, Ajay what am I going to o with you?” Pagan asks, even as he kneels at Ajay's feet.

 _Don't say it, don't say it, don't –_ “You could kiss me,” Ajay murmurs, leaning up on his elbows to meet Pagan's eyes.

_Ah, crap._

But Pagan only smiles and shakes his head. “You're high as a kite, dear boy. Sleep it off.”

Ajay seriously cannot believe he's read their entire situation wrong. He distracts himself by yanking his jacket off his arms, but his mouth moves and the words he wants to keep in his head come spilling out. “So you don't want me.”

“Perhaps not when you're high off Yuma's particular cocktail.” Pagan leans against him briefly. “And perhaps... when this is over.”

Slowly, like Pagan is a spooked tiger, Ajay touches the top of his head. “Sabal is going to want me to kill Amita,” he says, words spilling out into the air. “But, Amita is going to kill Bhadra, you know. She did it once. But if I kill Amita, Sabal murders half the Golden Path in front of her – Bhadra, not Amita.” All the things he's kept locked up behind his teeth for the last hundred time lines. “And it's always me,” he says, and his voice cracks. “You help sometimes. Sometimes you don't. I don't know why – Amita and Sabal always follow the same script.”

Pagan says something but his head is full of cotton and he's so tired, so tired of fighting for his life and pretending and lying. He smiles and lets himself fall asleep.

*

He wakes in the morning just in time for his stomach to rebel.

Thankfully he manages to fall out of bed on the side closest to the bathroom though he knocks everything off the side table to get there. Ajay hasn't had a hangover this bad in years – certainly not one bad enough to cause him to vomit. He's never had this reaction to Yuma's drugs before either, though it's possible she used something else for whatever reason.

A light touch on his back returns him to the present, and out of the corner of his eye, Ajay can see the light pink sleeve of Pagan's shirt as he rubs Ajay's back as he shakes.

He spits into the to toilet, trying to clear his mouth of the taste with limited success and says, “What the hell was that shit?” He feels thoroughly miserable, and he'd like to be able to shoot Yuma again just to drive the point home.

“Honestly,” Pagan says from just behind him. “I couldn't tell you what Yuma puts in her shit. It's probably a good thing that you slept through most of it.” Ajay agrees with that wholeheartedly and lets Pagan pull him to his feet. “Come on dear boy, lay back down.”

The world tilts a little but nothing like the night before, and Ajay gratefully sinks back down onto the bed. He's shivering and shaking and it's like withdrawals all over again – he's really and truly sick of being drugged all the time. Pagan actually tucks him back in, sitting on the edge of the bed to smooth over the blankets when Sabal's voice suddenly fills the air.

“Ajay? Ajay! For Kyra's sake, will you answer me?”

Managing to sit up a little, Ajay reaches for the radio only to find it on the floor several feet away. He points at it until Pagan hands it over and Ajay has to clear his throat a few times to be able to speak. “Sabal,” he says, but his voice is shit.

“Praise Kyra,” Sabal says, with a crackle of static. Ajay does manage not to roll his eyes but it's sort of a close thing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He leans back against the pillows, licking his dry lips. “Yuma drugged me. I'm alright though, just sick.”

He doesn't want to _lie_ exactly, but he has no idea how in the hell he'd even gotten to the Palace, let alone what had really happened at the KEO Mining Facility. “... Where are you?” Sabal asks urgently. “I'll come get you.”

Shit, shit, shit, no! “Don't bother!” Ajay says, and if his voice wasn't so wrecked it would have been a shout. “I'm in a Bell Tower, I uh, must have wandered around a bit after killing her. When I'm not puking my guts up, I'll check my GPS, but until then I just need to lay here and regret my entire life leading up to this moment.”

Sabal pauses for a second, as though giving him time to continue talking himself into a hole. “Are you certain?” he finally asks, and he sounds so genuinely concerned that Ajay smiles despite himself.

“I'm uh --” _going to puke again._ “I'll call you back.” He throws the radio and bolts for the bathroom, his legs steadier this time but off center. He vomits up the rest of everything he's ever eaten, until there's nothing left but bile, and even then his stomach still heaves and contracts viciously.

He can hear Pagan talking quietly to someone, but it's too much effort to lift his head from the toilet. He flushes away the smell, but the sound of rushing water makes him heave again, spitting liquid and acid into the bowl. He just sits there, pressing his sweaty forehead to the edge of the toilet, letting the cool porcelain soothe him.

He manages a few minutes of peace, until his stomach rebels again, and he spits nothing but stomach acid into the toilet. “Seriously,” he mutters, hiding his face in his arms, “there's nothing left to puke up, can we be _done_?”

The smell is so sour and strident that he's gagging without actually puking but he can't reach the handle without moving too far away for comfort. Pagan is suddenly there, flushing the toilet and touching his back gently. “Alright come on, Ajay. Back into bed with you.”

He only grips the toilet harder, because if he moves, he's going to puke again.

Pagan just sighs. “I have a bucket for you, in case you sick up again, now you'll be far more comfortable on the bed and I have something to help your stomach. Come on.”

The bed is pretty comfortable. Ajay lets himself be helped up, but he makes it to the bed without falling or throwing up, so he counts it as a win. The tea Pagan hands him is delicious, sweetened with honey and flavored liberally with ginger. Once it's mostly gone, he reaches for the radio he'd thrown, and clicks it back on. “Sorry about that, Sabal,” he says, and the tea has done wonders for his throat.

Sabal doesn't immediately reply so Ajay takes to watching Pagan arrange himself on the bed, even taking his shoes off and sitting cross-legged within reach. The radio rattles to life with a burst of sound, and Sabal hisses like a scalded cat. “Yes, it's Ajay, and yes he is fine, now shut up!”

He must be in Banapur then. “Everything okay, brother?” Sabal asks, after another pause.

“Sure,” Ajay says dryly, “Just didn't want to puke on the radio, you know?”

When Sabal laughs at him, the sound has an echo. Amita must still be in the room with him, then. “Well, Amita and I are eagerly awaiting your return, so take care of yourself.”

“Uh huh,” Ajay agrees. “This is just the hangover from hell, that's all. Don't worry about me, Sabal.”

He means it lightheartedly, considering their last conversation about Yuma and his stupid panic attack. Then Sabal says, “I... always worry about you, brother.”

Ajay is mortified to find that he actually blushes at that, and he mentally slaps himself because Sabal has never meant it like _that_ before.

Awkwardly, he clears his throat and mutters, “yeah well, I'm fine.” He looks down, away from Pagan's knowing gaze. “I'll sleep some more and then head to...” Actually, he has no idea what the nearest outpost to the KEO Facility is. He clicks the radio off and looks up, forcing himself to meet Pagan's gaze. “What's the closest outpost to the mine?”

Pagan has to think about it, but he answers quickly. “Probably the KEO area itself, the Pradhana mine. It's... maybe a click away?”

Ajay nods, because that seems pretty legitimate. “I'll head back the way I came, get to the Pradhana outpost. You can meet me there tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Yes,” Sabal says, not disguising his relief. “I'll meet you there. Be safe, brother.”

“You too, Sabal.” Ajay tosses the radio to the bedside table, looking over at Pagan. “Thanks.”

“Don't worry your pretty head, dear boy. It's the least I could do.” He reaches over for the tea pot, pouring another cup. “I'm no stranger to hangovers and their ilk.”

Ajay happily takes the cup, wrapping his fingers around the warmth and holding on. “Yeah, coke and caffeine, I remember.”

“Indeed.” There's a companionable silence as Ajay sips at his tea and relaxes against the pillows. “We need to talk, dear boy.”

If those aren't the four most terrifying words in the English language, Ajay will eat his gloves.

“Oh god,” he says, the weight of a thousand failed relationships in his words, “What did I do?”

That seems to baffle Pagan a bit, because he leans forward. “You don't remember?”

Honestly the last thing that Ajay really remembers clearly is meeting Kalinag but he's not going to mention that for love or money. Ajay looks down, thinking it over. “No. Well, I don't remember getting here, I do remember you trying to get me out of my jacket, and... we talked about bait? I don't remember much beyond that.”

Pagan nods. “That happened.” That's a relief, because he's missing enough time from all this nonsense. “But... you also said something really interesting.” He stares into Ajay's eyes, and Ajay can't look away, the intensity between them grows by leaps and bounds and he's pinned there, eyes too wide, stuck against the wall and pillows by Pagan's regard. “You said that Sabal and Amita were going to make you chose, not too long ago. Last night, you expanded on that, you said if you were to choose Amita, she'd kill Bhadra, but if you were to chose Sabal, he murders half the Golden Path in front of the girl.”

Horrified, Ajay curls into himself, shrinking as far as he can away from Pagan, away from his words, and his eyes. He manages to drag himself from Pagan's gaze but the words keep coming. “... You also mentioned me, you said that I helped, sometimes, but that Sabal and Amita followed a script, and I did not.”

“Must have been some hallucination I had then,” he says, choked. He can feel the tears in his chest, and it's suddenly hard to swallow.

“Well, I found it compelling, certainly,” Pagan says, clearly not buying Ajay's pathetic ruse. “Considering that if neither of us wish to remain here, another me and another Mohan Ghale are exactly what this country _doesn't_ need.” He smiles at Ajay, small and gentle. “But that's not why I found it so interesting.”

“It was _just a hallucination_ , okay Pagan?” Ajay snaps, livid with himself for talking. Livid with Pagan for bringing it up, and livid with his mother or Kalinag or whoever for doing this to him. He _cannot deal with it._

“... Considering I've lived your death a hundred and fifteen times.”

_... What?_

*tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nepali Translations:  
>  _Tapā'īṁ ta rāmrō kāma garēkā chan_ \- You have done so well.  
>  _Ma timīlā'ī dhērai dukhā'i kāraṇa du: Khī chu._ \- I am sorry I have caused you pain.  
>  _Yō ēka pakṣa thiyō. Āphnō āmā._ \- It was a favor. To your Mother.  
>  _Ma Kalinag hum̐._ \- I am Kalinag.  
>  _Tapā'īṁ kēṭā, khatarā ajhai chan. Ma Pagan Min tapā'īnlā'ī hunēcha._ \- You are still in danger. I will take you to Pagan Min.
> 
> About the brief mention on rape: My thoughts are pretty simple. I see Yuma the same way I saw Citra when I played Far Cry 3. In FC3, Jason was drugged, Jason did not consent to having sex with Citra (in front of an audience no less), therefore, it was rape. It sure as shit seemed like it was consensual on the outside, but in the real world, if a woman is drugged, or super intoxicated, any sexual intercourse of any kind is considered rape, therefore the same rules apply to a man, right? Works both ways (or it should.) 
> 
> In FC4, after Pagan leaves Ajay to his fate with Yuma after he arrives at Durgesh, Ajay is drugged, badly enough that he's hallucinating. Yuma appears to him half naked (much like Citra) and that's how she disarms him. In all the walkthroughs, it's said that Yuma "seduces Ajay" and if he's _drugged_ that's rape. And since *my* Ajay in this fic is fairly homosexual, any sort of touching going on isn't going to be welcomed as he's aggressively unattracted to her.


	6. vi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally hear the last of Ajay's side of the story, and Amita and Sabal learn to live with each other. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Witcher 3 came out this week, and it almost took precedence over writing - almost. I managed to get a lot done in my down time at work, which was lovely, and this chapter is much shorter than the last. The epilogue is the last thing to be written, and I'll try to have it done on the same schedule I started this one, meaning next Saturday. 
> 
> However, it will be all new material, and I'm going to try to break 70,000. So if I'm a few days late, don't be scared! I WILL finish this story.
> 
> I'd really like to thank every single one of you, especially those who have been leaving me such lovely, amazing comments. You make my days, I love coming home after a rough shift and finding them in my inbox, it's truly wonderful. I'm so glad this story has effected you, and I'm sad to find it ending. :) I love you all.

PART SIX - AJAY

He's checked out.

He fell, hit his head, or maybe he's still completely addled from Yuma's drugs. His entire body shivers, and he thinks maybe he's going to throw up again after all. All he can hear is Pagan's echoing voice in his ears: _death_ and _one hundred fifteen times._ The tears in his chest – they've been sitting there since his panic attack in Amita's arms – well up and spill over his cheeks though he makes no sound. Pagan is silent, patient like he never is, waiting for Ajay to get his act together. Finally he manages to loosen his voice from it's frozen prison, and says, very quietly, “... _What_?”

“Since the only thing we've done differently this time around is lay your mother to rest, I was panicked that you'd died after the heroin factory, you know.” At his words Ajay's fingers go nerveless and the tea cup begins to spill out of his hands until Pagan rescues it. “But all things considered, I think this one's gone the best, don't you?”

He needs to know. He needs to _see_. He looks up, meeting Pagan's eyes and seeing something akin to compassion there. “You know,” he whispers. “You've _known! Why didn't you say anything?!”_

Pagan, the asshole, doesn't even look a bit chastised. “Oh, and it's so believable, you wouldn't have written me off as high as shit and dismissed me?” The ' _for a lunatic_ ' goes unsaid but it's pretty clear.

“Of course I wouldn't! I remember too!” Ajay tries to lean forward but the movement is graceless and staggered, so he aborts the hug and wraps his hands around Pagan's instead.

Pagan laces their fingers together in response, and he says with a slight smile, “Well no, in light of that, but after the first few times, I wouldn't have had any idea, would I? Besides, you generally do as you please, dear boy.”

There's a faintly bitter twist at the end of his statement and Ajay squeezes his hand around Pagan's. He's a smart guy, even if he dropped out of High School at the beginning of Junior Year, but he's always been good at math. “I died eighty percent quicker when I simply followed you home, Pagan.” It's not inaccurate, of the hundred fifteen times he'd lived and died, he'd managed an average of two months alive, and on the times he followed Pagan rather than the Golden Path, he'd died within weeks if not days. (Hours, in some cases.) “I decided to take my chances with the Golden Path. It... took a while to forgive them though, knowing that Sabal could so easily shoot me in the back? It was really hard to forgive him for that and he hasn't even done it yet.”

“That explains why you saved Noore and Paul,” Pagan comments quietly.

It doesn't, actually, but if Pagan sees meaning in that, Ajay's glad for it.

“And I think you're right... with mom at rest, if I die for any reason, I think I'm out of chances.” There's a lot that he can believe now but taking about speaking with Kalinag is high up there on his list of no-no. “I don't know what caused this, Kyra, or Banashur or Yalung. But whoever did it... I think they're good will is at an end.”

“Then, what are you going to do?” Pagan asks. Ajay watches his face carefully, can see the nerves and the dejected set of his mouth as he asks the question. Whatever Pagan is expecting here, it's clearly a rejection.

So, Ajay nods, even if he can't manage a smile, letting go of Pagan's hands. Better to make a clean break, right? “I can't bring the three of you together, but I can bring them together. Let me try... and then, then we leave. You first... and then I'll go. Home to California.”

They'd been planning on it anyway, right? Ajay's already been gone too long, he knows his apartment has probably been packed up and rented out, he has no idea what his friends think about his disappearance. He'd only been planning on being gone for a week, not three months.

Whatever issues Ajay has to deal with after Kyrat, clearly Pagan has more, because he gets off the bed, in short, jerky movements. He collects the tea set, all without looking at Ajay and bows with a mocking edge to the movement. “As the King commands.”

“What's wrong?” Ajay asks, the concern in his belly growing.

But Pagan doesn't answer, instead leaning over the edge of the bed and pressing his lips to Ajay's temple. “Nothing, dear boy. Get some sleep, I'll wake you in the morning.”

Ajay frowns, watching as Pagan takes the tray and heads for the door. He pauses before leaving, turning a little to catch Ajay's eyes with his own. “Pagan?” Ajay murmurs, and there are so many things he wants to say: _thank you, I'm sorry, don't leave_ , and finally he settles on: “I'm sorry about Yuma.”

Pagan only nods once. “Me too,” he says, and his voice is rough. “Good night, my boy.”

He leaves Ajay alone in the room, shutting the door behind him. With some effort, Ajay reaches for his things on the ground, grabbing his watch to set an alarm. It isn't that he doesn't trust Pagan to wake him up, he's just a creature of habit and everything is already so fucked up, the ritual will be a comfort.

He's not exactly tired, but his body feels heavy and everything hurts. It's much easier to just let himself fall back to sleep than trying to muddle through the rest of his thoughts.

He can work out his relationship with Pagan in the morning.

*

His watch wakes him just before dawn, and though his head is still a bit fuzzy, he feels much better than he did. The world doesn't move in strange directions when he stands up, and when he pulls on his jacket and shoes, he doesn't get light headed or feel sick.

Ajay meets up with Naveen in a hall just down from the room he'd slept in, and the commander, who looks exhausted, just points down an identical hall and says, “Library.”

Strange, he didn't think Pagan was very interested in books or history. He finds Pagan in a corner, sitting in an arm chair and looking haggard. “I was going to wake you shortly,” Pagan says, smiling brightly – too brightly, in fact – and he heaves himself to his feet. “Seems you're as prompt as ever,” he adds, as he throws an arm around Ajay's shoulders. “You look much better, I must say.”

“You don't,” Ajay tells him, and slings an arm around Pagan's waist to help take his weight. “Did you sleep at all?”

“This again?” Pagan complains. “No. But that's because some sick little bastard took my bed without so much as a thank you, so unless you were waiting for me to come crawling into bed beside you, I found accommodations elsewhere.”

“That was your room?” he asks, a thrill going through him. “I should have known. Thank you, then.” He decides he's really not going to analyze why his whole body flushes at the thought of sleeping in Pagan's bed.

Pagan leans down a little to press their temples together, almost like a hug. “Think nothing of it, darling.”

Yeah, like that's going to happen. Time for a subject change.

“Is the outpost far from here?” he asks as they get to the courtyard. It's sort of abrupt, and his voice breaks a little but Pagan doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy mincing his way over to the door and opening it with a flourish.

“A fair bit. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes. Maybe.” He shields his eyes from the sun and snorts. “I wouldn't know, I usually travel by helicopter.”

To one side of the driveway is an incredibly banged up ATV that found its way into a ditch, tipped over and smoking. Ajay has never seen the thing before in his life, but judging by the horror on Pagan's face, it must belong to his wild ride away from the KEO mine even if he doesn't remember making the trip. “That must be me,” he says, and nearly slaps himself at how false he sounds. “I'll radio you in a few days, okay?”

Pagan nods. “Of course. Once you're ready, return here. I'll bring you to the New Delhi airport myself.”

For a second, Ajay wonders if Pagan got to do this once before, give someone a ride out of his life, or if his mother had just disappeared with Ajay on her hip never telling Pagan that she was going. So Ajay smiles, and ducks his head, and breaks away from Pagan's side. “Thanks,” he says and kicks over the ATV. “Wish me luck?”

Pagan is staring, and it lasts for a disturbingly long time before he smiles, the edge of his mouth turned gently up. “Luck, dear boy,” he calls back, and then he turns quickly around and disappears back instead.

Ajay zooms off down the driveway, cutting across where he can to make it to the Prahdana Outpost, and hopefully beat Sabal there. It takes him just under ten minutes, and that's with a few short cuts and close calls.

Sabal isn't around yet, thankfully, which makes telling the officers of the Golden Path where he came from much easier. They take him at face value, and before all this, he wasn't a very good liar. It seems that practice really does make perfect, after all. Even though it's early, the outpost is bustling and busy, sending out patrols and receiving calls for pick ups on supplies. Ajay gets to work with Achal, one of the Armored Truck drivers trying to fix one of the trucks panels. It's full of bullet holes, and he's trying fill in the holes with treatment, and then buff it out smoothly.

Laying beside the other man, Ajay holds the panel in place so that Achal can use the repair tool, keeping his hands steady. “Spent a night in a bell tower?” Achal is saying as familiar boots appear beside their heads. “Your back must be all kinds of twisted up, yar.”

Ajay snorts, transferring his grip to one hand to reach out and pat Sabal's ankle in acknowledgment. “Eh, I've had worse. Slept pretty good actually, once I stopped throwing up.”

Sabal crouches down next to them and prods Ajay in the shoulder. “When you said you'd meet me here, I didn't expect to find you already working.”

He laughs, sliding out from under the truck and letting Sabal lift him to his feet. “I would be bored out of my mind, waiting on your slow driving,” he says, and kicks Achal in the shin lightly. “You good?” he asks.

“Of course, just leave me here to do all the work alone,” Achal says but doesn't come out from under it.

“That's what you get for taking on a mission without me there to help you.” He grins over at Sabal. “No one can take out four gasoline cans and two trucks with a grenade launcher quite like me,” he adds.

Wincing, Sabal claps a hand over Ajay's shoulder and steers him away. “I'm quite sure I don't want to know,” he says.

“Probably not,” Ajay agrees. He slings an arm around Sabal's shoulders. “Take me to Banapur, I need to talk to you and Amita.”

Sabal nods, still smiling. “Everything okay, brother?”

Ajay chews on his lower lip. “Y-Yeah, I guess. I just... have something I should have told you a while ago.”

Shooting him a slightly concerned look as they get into the car, Sabal leans across the center console to grip Ajay's wrist. “You can tell me anything, brother.”

A few rotations ago, Ajay would have scoffed at that, and let the moment slide, but this time, he actually feels like it's true. So he smiles, rotates his wrist to clasp Sabal's hand and says, “Yeah I know. But I... don't want to tell it twice.”

“And fair enough.” Sabal puts the car in gear and heads South East towards Banapur.

Ajay spends the entire drive – about an hour – planning on what to say. He doesn't think he can get away with just saying “hey I became friends with Pagan” without explaining how it ended up happening. And how it ended up happening is already complicated enough without adding in Kalinag and everything else.

If he can't convince them he's serious about the time lines, then he'll just pack up and leave. He'll tell Bhadra good bye, and just go – without Pagan there to fuel their hatred, the Golden Path can be a real threat.

Amita is waiting for them in Banapur, Bhadra leaning against her side. “Ajay!” she cheers, and waves madly at him. No matter what time line he's stuck in, Bhadra always makes him smile.

Sabal and Ajay meet them at the doorway to “Headquarters” and Ajay gestures them inside. “I have to talk to you,” he murmurs quietly to Amita. “Both of you.”

Bhadra takes his sleeve, being careful not to touch his skin, Ajay notices; and says, “Should I go practice archery?”

He thinks about it seriously, glancing down at her steady expression. “Nah,” he eventually settles on. “You should hear this too.”

That makes her smile, Bhadra doesn't often get included in things, for all she's embroiled in the politics of the Golden Path. They enter the building together, and a few quick words in sharp Nepalese from Amita clears the room of any lingering officer or commander. “What did you want to talk about, Ajay?” Bhadra asks.

No matter how much thought went into this, Ajay has no idea what to say. “It... I... Well. I've been lying to you.” All three of them make loud exclamations to that, and Ajay winces. “Sorry, no! Sorry, that was terrible. I'm bad at this.”

He blows out a harsh breath, ruffling the hair at the back of his head in thought. Sabal says, sounding careful, “You can tell us anything, brother.”

It's just a repetition of what he'd said in the car but it makes Ajay feel a little better. He takes another deep breath and says, “I know... that what I'm about to say is going to sound absolutely insane. I mean it, it's crazy – it's been happening to me, and it's too crazy for words. But it's true, and I... I can't keep it to myself anymore.”

Amita and Sabal exchange a look but Bhadra blinks up at him and says, utterly guilelessly. “... Is this about you dying?”

The rest of his words are sucked away and he can only stare mutely at her, because what the hell.

“Pagan told us,” Sabal says when Ajay doesn't respond right away. “The day we told you about finding Lakshmana, when he asked Bhadra for spiritual guidance, he told us he'd lived your death a number of times.”

Well. Doesn't _that_ beat all. He blinks, trying to recenter himself and licks his lips. “One hundred and fifteen,” he says quietly. “I have died one hundred and fifteen times.” He swallows hard. “I remember every single one of them.”

Bhadra takes his hand and leads him to the pile of rugs that makes up a couch. “Tell us,” she says quietly.

And he does. “The first time was outside of Lakshmana's shrine,” he begins quietly. “I had fought my way through the Fortress to the Palace, and Pagan Min gave me a choice, I could kill him right then, or he could take me to Lakshmana, which he'd apparently been trying to do in the first place.” He rubs an absent hand over his chest, where he'd felt the bullet. “So I followed him to the shrine, and then... I don't know, it was suddenly cold, and my chest hurt. I turned around and it...” he cuts himself off, ruthlessly.

“It was me,” Sabal murmurs, sitting down hard on the edge of the desk. “Min said it, but I... I did not quite believe him.”

Ajay nods slowly. “You stared me down as I bled out in front of you, and then I was on the bus with Darpan, and it was like nothing had happened. I thought I'd fallen asleep and had a nightmare, because men with power don't wear pink suits and mince about after murdering someone with a pen.” His mouth twists, feeling a little bitter. “Except they do.”

He goes on to outline Darpan's ineptitude with the LMG, falling from the Bell Tower and bleeding out to Sabal's panic, the rocket to the face over the Fortress. Falling to his death from Durgesh. Every little detail he could think of.

“I uh... I think have PTSD,” he whispers when he reaches the end of his speech.

Amita is the one to ask the question he most dreads answering. “So why tell us now?”

“Because Pagan and I have become friends, of a sort,” he says, pointedly looking down at his lap. “But that isn't really why I'm telling you now.” He takes a deep breath and says, “I've lived every version of every choice any of us can make. I've tried every combination, every choice, everything I have done, I have done to find out how to save Kyrat. And you.”

“And what did you find?” Sabal asks, but he doesn't sound angry, merely curious.

He finally transfers his gaze to Sabal and says, “I've chosen who leads the Golden Path, before. You put it on me, and I decided. And neither choice was right.”

Amita scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Her entire expression is belligerent, her body language closed and angry. She's radiating displeasure and before, that might have once stopped him. But Ajay is tired of the choices, and he's tired of their antics. “What does that even mean,” Amita snaps. “If not one of us, who would do what we did?”

“Ha!” Ajay laughs, shaking his head. “Amita, you haven't done anything since I arrived. Neither of you have. You've shouted and snarled and fought over everything and tried to play me against the other. So listen to me, _for once in your life_ to what I have to say.”

The looks Sabal and Amita give him are shocked and surprise, but they subside, more or less and let him speak. Bhadra takes his hand, linking her small fingers with his and she squeezes once. “Tell us.”

Ajay clears his throat. “It doesn't matter who I choose, in the end. Amita asks me to kill Sabal. Sabal asks me to kill Amita. I uh, never do. I tell you I do, because that's what you expected, but I couldn't do it.” There are three sharply in drawn breaths to that, but Ajay just looks down at Bhadra's hands. “If I side with you, Sabal... you hunt down every single one of Amita's supporters and murder them, executioner style at Jalendu temple. In front of Bhadra.”

“What!” Amita shouts, whirling on Sabal.

But Ajay is faster. “ _And if I side with you_ , Amita,” he says, overriding her. “If I side with you, I find you in Tirtha, recruiting children into the army to bolster the ranks.” He takes another deep breath, because as bad as that is, it's not as bad as the next thing. “I ask you where Bhadra is, and you said, you told me, you told me she was safe, that you had put her somewhere no one could hurt her, and you had blood on your hands when you said it.” He chokes up a little, his voice breaking at the end. “In time line ninety something, I died there in Tirtha because I attacked you for it.”

All of Amita's rage is gone, drained away with the color of her cheeks, leaving her pale and shaky. “I wouldn't! Bhadra, I would never!”

But Bhadra is staring at her in shocked horror, and she crowds into Ajay's side. He's pretty sure that it's against the rules to wrap an arm around her, but he's the uneducated infidel so he doesn't really care too much. Neither Sabal or Amita stop him from cuddling her into a hug, and she clings so hard that he doesn't think that even if they objected, they could pry her off him.

Ajay clears his throat. “My father, he saw a small, innocent child as a mistake that needed to be corrected. He drowned my little sister in her own bathtub, and called it just. When Pagan Min spoke to commanders in the Golden Path in the 80s, just after I was born, he murdered them for betrayal. I know you were raised by him, and then on his ideals, Sabal. But he was wrong, so, so wrong. I don't... I can't do this anymore.”

He stands quickly, panicked and shocky, and darts for the door. His chest is tight, his breathing sporadic. It's another panic attack, and he's really tired of them. “Wait!” someone calls behind him but he can't, if he waits he's going to end up on the floor in tears.

He takes off from the building, flinging himself into the nearest truck and he's almost made it when Sabal's firm grip catches him around the waist. “No, brother. Don't run off on us now,” he murmurs, holding him carefully.

“I need air,” Ajay says, gulping hard. His lungs are too tight and Amita is suddenly at his side, whatever anger she'd had drained from her face. They manage to lead him back into the building, and Ajay collapses on the rugs, hiding his face in his knees.

“What do you need, Ajay?” Amita asks him quietly.

And Ajay almost says, 'Pagan' before he catches himself. “I don't know,” he says miserably. “I need this to be over,” he adds in a whisper. “I want to go home, I want Kyrat to be okay. I want you two to stop and get along. I don't want to get rid of Pagan only put him back on the throne... and I don't want to get rid of him to put my dad there either. I can't win, Amita, I can't. No matter what I do I lose. I always lose.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead even harder to his knees. “Even if I manage to escape Kyrat, I'm going to carry this with me forever,” he adds after another moment of breathing. “PTSD is for life.”

They let him stay there, keeping him quiet company for hours before he manages to pull himself out of it. “Better?” Sabal asks neutrally after Amita hands him a bottle of water.

“Not really,” he says honestly. “But I'm working on it.”

Sabal nods, like he expected that answer. “Do you have a plan?”

“You won't like it,” Ajay warns quietly.

He presses his lips together, thinking quickly before finally replying, “Run the Golden Path together. The Law before Pagan states that the Tarun Matara can rule the country, and Bhadra is too young, so be regents. Both of you. Amita – the drugs are bad, okay? They are. And Sabal, without the drugs you won't have an economy to recover from. So merge your plans together and work it out.”

He's not sure what good that will do, but at least he tried.

That's all his mother could ask for.

*

It takes him almost a week to get all his things together. He leaves behind the syringes, the guns, his favorite recurve bow. He pulls on his last set of clean clothes, zips up his jacket, and opens the door to step outside.

Instead he steps directly into Amita's fist. “Uh, ow?” he exclaims, pointedly, holding his head. “What the hell was that for?!”

“You were trying to leave without saying good bye,” she accuses, crowding him in the door way.

He winces because she isn't wrong. “I left a note?” he tries to explain, lamely. It's not enough, of course, but he's never been very good with confrontation or good byes. Things weren't perfect, but Amita and Sabal seem to be making a token effort to get along better, which is all Ajay can ask.

“A note?” she shrieks, and he flinches back before her flailing limbs can hit him again.

“I left my number and everything,” he defends, holding her off with the hand not covering his eye. “I don't plan on just disappearing.”

She scowls at him before dragging him into a hug. “I wish you weren't leaving,” she says. “I know that Bhadra is meant to be the Tarun Matara, but you are the son of the last. You could easily take your place here.”

Ajay offers her a slight smile but shakes his head. “I have no place here,” he says gently. “My mother didn't want me to have one, and whatever she did, it worked. I've got a home, or at least I will again. And we'll keep in touch.”

They walk together towards a truck, Sabal and Bhadra standing in front of the driver's side door. “Is this another intervention?” he asks, half a joke.

Sabal frowns, and gently removes his hand from where it covers his eye. “Did you have to punch him?” he complains, and Amita snickers, unrepentant.

“Tell me,” Ajay asks, turning his head, so the blossoming bruise is facing Bhadra. “Did she permanently damage my good side?”

Bhadra giggles, reaching out to turn his head from side to side. “You have a good side?” she teases, and he gasps in exaggerated angst, clutching his heart and stumbling backwards. “I'm really going to miss you, Ajay,” she whispers sadly.

He crouches low, resting before her on one knee. “I'm going to miss you too, Bhadra. But I'm a phone call away, and I'll come visit.”

He actually means it too – he's left his mother and his sister here, and these two warring factions that have become his friends – he has ties now, even if his home is back in California.

She hugs him tightly, before going to stand by Amita's side, her hand in the older woman's. Sabal takes her place in front of him, and there's a wealth of emotion on his face before he pulls Ajay into a hug. “I'm so sorry, brother,” he murmurs, his mouth pressed close to Ajay's ear. “I know that I did not shoot you in the heart, but a version of me did. That you can look me in the eye is a blessing from Kyra.”

“It uh, it took a couple rotations,”Ajay admits, tightening his grip on Sabal. “But we got there. It's okay. No apologies necessary.”

Their hug is probably lasting a lot longer than is strictly kosher, but Ajay doesn't care. It's good, and he's not had good in a long while. “You'll let me know you landed safely?” Sabal demands as he pulls away.

“I will,” Ajay says. “I'll email you when I get onto a computer. My phone is still crushed and it'll take a few days before I can get a new one.”

Sabal nods, and lets Ajay go.

It takes a lot of effort to get into the truck and drive away from Banapur, his mother's letter folded up in his pocket, his trinkets and money from the sherpas stashed in his bag.

He'd cobbled together a life, here in Kyrat. It's a good one, even, but it's not his. He has the hour long drive back to Pagan to think it over – he knows that the good bye to Sabal and Amita isn't the hardest person he'll have to say good bye to.

He really is his mother's son.

It's that thought that haunts him as he pulls up to the royal palace, and Pagan is there waiting for him, even though Ajay left behind his radio and forgot to call ahead. Pagan's eyes linger on his black eye, and he smirks. “Didn't go so well, I take it?” he asks, as Ajay follows him into the bedroom and drops his things on the floor.

Ajay shakes his head a little, pressing his lips together. “The black eye is from Amita,” he says honestly, because what's the point of lying. “I uh, may have accused her of turning into another you.”

Even Pagan winces at that, as he joins Ajay at the table. “But you were successful?”

Ajay nods, looking away. “Yeah, I guess. I told them that the law very clearly states that Bhadra should take the throne of Kyrat once you were gone, and Sabal tried to tell me that as the son of the last Tarun Matara, I should take the throne first.” He leans his head back, casting his eyes about so he doesn't have to look at Pagan's stupid sympathetic face. “Apparently they were both incredibly confused that I didn't want any countries, or kingship's, or thrones.”

Pagan barks a laugh at that, and drawls mildly, “That's because you have no sense of taste or flair, my boy.”

That's really rich, coming from the king of flamboyant dress choices, it really is. “You have enough of both for at least six people, your opinion does not count,” he says, rolling his head to look over at Pagan.

Laughing quietly, Pagan stands up and goes to the bar to pour them something to drink, which Ajay is frankly a little glad for. “Perhaps not,” Pagan agrees as he hands over the glass. “But it takes more than both to run a country.”

Ajay takes a sip of is drink, finding it to be the same scotch from a week or two ago when he'd come for dinner and found a choice. “So,” he says, suddenly very sad, “what happens now?”

If Pagan is startled by the question, he doesn't show it, instead leaning against the bar casually. “Well,” he says, as though thinking about it, “tomorrow morning we'll helicopter out of here to New Delhi, where you'll fly back to California, and I'll... go my own way.”

That's surprisingly soon. He can't really look at Pagan's expression again, not without his own folding like a house of cards. “That soon?” he asks, trying to moderate his tone.

The question makes Pagan toss his mostly full glass back in one go, and his voice is blank and flat when he answers. “I've found after a hundred or so dealings with your Golden Path that speed is the better part of valor, and if you don't mind, I have enough of your blood on my hands.”

Durgesh really is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Yeah,” he mutters, failing to stifle his wince. “I know what you mean.”

He's never broken it down before, at least not out loud, but of those one hundred fifteen deaths, at least nine of them were assisted suicide. Pagan looks like maybe he knows that, and Ajay lets his eyes slide away, he doesn't want to talk about it.

“Well,” Pagan says abruptly, “it's late. Are you hungry? We can get dinner.”

It sounds like a peace offering, so Ajay takes it as one. He smiles, ducking his head a little. “Crab Rangoon?”

When Pagan offers him a hand, Ajay takes it, surprised when the other man curls his fingers around Ajay's own like a caress. “For you, dear boy?” he says gently, “Anything.”

They have dinner on a balcony, the one over looking the road. Ajay isn't used to the staff coming and going so much, he rarely sees anyone but Pagan here, but they bring nearly endless food for them. A lot of the food is rich and flavorful, things Ajay hasn't had before, especially not in Kyrat.

He hasn't eaten this well since the time line where Sabal threw a festival at one of the Monasteries, and everyone ate well then. The only draw back to this dinner party is the wine. Ajay drinks too much of it, and so does Pagan, so he lets the rosy blush of alcohol flavor the end of the evening.

“Boy,” Pagan says, sounding severe but for the smile on his face, “you're going to be sick in the morning, and I'm not going to coddle you with tea and toast this time, I'm really not. You, my dear, are on your own!”

He's always been on his own.

“Ha!”Ajay throws one of the rolls left over from dinner, expecting it to bounce off Pagan's smug forehead, but it sails uninhibited over his left shoulder to hit the wall and then the floor. He must be drunker than he thought, since he never misses anything anymore. “I've been drinking since I was fifteen,” he says, frowning at the basket of rolls. “Wine is practically like water to me. I bet you'll have a worse hangover than I will.”

That seems to amuse Pagan, because his smile widens, and he tips his glass in Ajay's general direction. “I'm not crazy enough to take that bat, darling, considering I'm literally twice your age.”

He almost says, 'like that matters' but manages to keep his response to a relatively safe eye roll, stealing the bottle of wine and finishing it off.

“Psh,” he scoffs. “Like that matters.”

_Oops._

“Still not taking that bet,” Pagan responds, not rising to his bait at all. “Besides, you seem to have finished all the wine.”

Ajay pulls his glass closer in case Pagan tries to take it from him. His mother would do that sometimes. He circles his finger around the rim as he collects his thoughts. He's burning to know what lies between them, if what he's feeling is real or if it's all in his head. “Will you...” kiss me?

He can't say it. He knows how he feels, it's been pretty clear to him for a while now. His first and last thoughts are of Pagan, especially in times of trouble. Ajay thinks of him all the time, and it started so innocently that he's not sure when it really began. But he can't ask for affection, he's not quite that desperate.

“Will I what?” Pagan asks him finally, and Ajay hadn't realized how much time had passed while he was lost in thought. Judging by the trace of irritation in Pagan's tone, the time was obviously a good long while.

Ajay blinks, refocusing on Pagan as the man prods him in the arm with the blunt end of the butter knife. “Nothing,” he sighs, letting the notion go entirely. “Just thinking. What do you think mom would think seeing us like this?”

When in doubt: just bring up Ishwari.

Giving Ajay a loaded and skeptical look, Pagan at least plays along with his super obvious subject change. “Oh, she'd probably be flapping her hands at us and scolding us in two different languages about overindulgence and that you're her little boy,” Pagan says, and as he speaks, his tone grows warmer and amused. Then he promptly gives Ajay a heart attack by saying: “and 'Pagan, really, must you?' which I didn't think I would miss until it was gone.”

He imitates Ishwari exactly, her tone, her inflection, even the pitch is almost spot on, for the phrase: 'really, must you' which Ajay had heard so many times growing up that if he'd been given a dime for every time,he'd be as rich as Pagan.

It unexpectedly stabs a knife into his chest, making it somewhat hard to breathe. “Fuck,” he breathes, staring at Pagan. “You sounded exactly like her, holy shit.” He drinks a few more swallows of wine, hoping to shake the feeling. “That was incredibly creepy.”

Pagan only grins at him, before shoving his plate and glass aside. “Thank you, dear boy. I heard it often enough in the past to have it actually imprinted on my brain.” It's probably imprinted on Ajay's too, so he grins back, at least until Pagan's expression morphs into something unreadable. Ajay lets his own smile fade away, but Pagan's mind isn't on him anymore, and wherever it went, it went some place bad. He stands abruptly, running his hands through his hair. “Alright, Ajay. We have an early start. May as well get some rest while we can.”  
  
Feeling unaccountably disappointed, Ajay looks away. “Yeah,” he says, and he can't stop the dejection from infiltrating his tone, “Of course.” He drinks the last of his wine too fast, and he's swaying a little when he does stand up, but he's still pretty clear headed, and he knows something is upsetting Pagan.

“You can stay in the room across from mine,” Pagan offers, and Ajay nods, because even though he'd expected something similar, he'd still hoped for something more.

Ajay follows him down the hall, and doesn't speak because he doesn't know what to say. “Thanks,” he settles on, at the doors. “Night, Pagan.”

He means a lot of things, and none of them are 'goodnight'.

They walk there, side by side, without speaking and Pagan would give the south of Kyrat to know what the boy is thinking. “Thanks,” Ajay says, once they've arrived at the door. “Night, Pagan.”

He disappears inside the room before the other man can reply, since the coward's way has been working really well for him so far. It's not like he's miserable if he doesn't get what he wants. He's survived this long, it won't be rejection that kills him.

He's really, really aware of that now.

There's one thing to be said for PTSD, it really puts things in perspective. Maybe tomorrow he'll have enough courage to tell Pagan how he really feels. After all how hard can it be to tell a man he loves him?

*

Ajay wakes up ten minutes before his watch alarm goes off, and he lays in bed for that ten minutes thoroughly regretting the wine. When he hears the hustle and bustle of the Palace around him, he drags himself out of bed and changes his clothing, and wishes he had his guns to arm him against the day.

He's pretty sure that getting into the New Delhi airport with his small arsenal of weapons would be pretty easy with Pagan at his side, but Ajay needs to leave the killer behind.

He jogs down the hall and out into the courtyard, even though two people stop him to try and get him to eat. He declines politely, he just wants to go home now that it's a real option for him. Pagan is already by the helicopter, speaking with the pilot, with several of his men standing around him.

Naveen Ruari, he recognizes right away, as the man smiles at him and waves. With him is the tattooed Japanese man that Ajay vaguely recalls is named Gary, and Pagan's double – Eric, the Australian. Ajay eyes Eric, trying to scan for differences and finds none which is irritating. “That's never not going to be weird,” he says.

The man laughs and gives him his hand to shake. Ajay takes it, somewhat belatedly. “Eric,” he offers, because in this time line they've never met, and his Australian accent is just bizarre. “And don't worry, I'm only here to see the boss off, I'm catching a different plane later.”

That's probably a smart idea, and Ajay glances between him and Pagan, the latter of which offers him a brief smile before going off with Naveen. “Well, good luck?” he offers Eric who seems to take it in the spirit he intended it.

“Thanks, mate,” he says, his smile widening when Ajay makes a face. “Glad you'll be with the boss when he flies out of here. Not used to him going off without us anymore.”

Ajay nods. “I can't promise I'll be much protection.”

But Eric shakes his head. “Naw, mate. The Golden Path knows you're leaving with Pagan, yeah? They won't shoot on him if you're in here with him.” He pats the side of the helicopter.

Oh how Ajay wishes that were true. He restrains a flinch as the whine of an RPG echoes between his ears, but he shakes off the flash back quickly when Pagan's hand drops on his back nudging him into the helicopter.

He gives Eric one last nod, and climbs up next to Pagan, trying not to be obvious in avoiding Gary. Thankfully the man seems content to ignore them, tucking himself into a corner and staring out the window. “Your flight is at ten, local time,” Pagan tells him, handing over a printed ticket.

“When is yours?” Ajay asks, curiously as he takes his ticket and hides it in his passport.

Pagan has to look at the page, squinting like he's having trouble focusing. “Later,”he finally answers. “Three in the afternoon.”

 _Oh_. That... doesn't give them a lot of time. “Where are you going?” he asks, instead of saying that first thing out loud.

Pagan smiles when he answers, and he looks so uncomplicatedly happy that Ajay's breath catches in his chest. “London, for now. I schooled there, you know. My father sent me to boarding school so I could learn English.” He relaxes into the seat, looking down at his hands. “I have fond memories of the place.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Ajay blurts out.

Pagan meets his eyes, but he looks sucker punched at the question and Ajay gets the feeling he expected this to be their last conversation. “Do you want to?” he's asked quietly, and Ajay almost wants to answer with a joke, but instead he just nods firmly. “Then yes, dear boy. You'll see me again.”

 _Oh thank Kyra_. “Good,” Ajay answers, and settles back against the seat.

They manage to make their way over the India border without hassle, RPG fire, rockets, or mortar shots to end their journey prematurely. Ajay has never been more glad to see an airport in his life.

If Ajay is being honest, he's a little concerned about this last leg of his journey to see his mother to rest. It's been a long time since he'd truly been on his own and once Pagan leaves him to his flight, he'll not have anyone else to rely on until he gets back to California, until he gets a new phone and can find out what he needs to do to get back his life.

He's not been so alone since first arriving in Kyrat, and even then, he had Sabal. And much later, he had everyone. It's going to be a very lonely few weeks, and he thought doesn't give him hope. He has a long list of things he needs to do, and number one is finding a therapist who specializes with soldiers – he'd never have made it in the army, but that's what Sabal and Amita's war turned him into.

His friends back home would probably piss themselves laughing if they knew how easily he fell in line when the going got tough, but then again, most of those friends didn't know strife and hardship at all.

At least, not this set. The last set probably isn't out of jail yet.

Still, the helicopter ride passes quickly and getting through customs goes even quicker. He has nothing to declare anyway, and he left everything organic behind. Pagan walks with him to his departure gate, and Ajay drops his things on a chair before turning to face the older man. “That was the fastest I've ever been through customs in my life,” he says.

Pagan smirks, and yep, it's totally obvious that he'd paid people off. “Yes, well, it's good to be king. Do you have enough money for the return?”

Ugh. Ajay makes a face and gestures ineffectually at his pockets. “Yeah, yeah, I made a ton just selling random shit to sherpas. I have enough to convert to US dollars so I can buy a new phone when I land.”

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Pagan nods. “Good.” He can't seem to focus, Ajay notes, as his eyes jump from Ajay himself to the gate, to the departure board. Ajay follows his gaze and sees he has less than hour before boarding, since Pagan went all out and got tickets for first class.

Just to keep the conversation going, Ajay adds, “Besides, I'm looking forward to telling the iPhone representative that I need a knew phone because my last one got stepped on by an elephant.” He shows Pagan the mangled bit of machinery, and loses more of the screen in the process.

“Is that what happened to it?” Pagan asks curiously. “I wondered, since I tried calling you after the Factory incident.”

Ajay snorts a laugh, tucking the cell phone away. “Yeah, I sort of dropped it when I was fleeing the scene of the crime.”

People are starting to appear, the gate getting a little more crowded and Ajay has to fight the instinct to flinch. Pagan seems to understand though, because he holds out a hand for Ajay to shake. “I have a few last things to do, dear boy,” he says quietly. “So I wish you all the luck in the world, and I'll leave you to it.”

Fuck. He's not ready for this. He isn't, he thought he had more time, and he took the cowards path too many times. He's lost his chance. “Good bye,” Ajay whispers and shakes Pagan's hand to hide his agony. “Thanks for everything.”

Pagan is clearly thinking of the time lines where Pagan did nothing to help anyone, because he winces. “No need to thank me, darling. But you're welcome, all the same.” He steps back, once, twice, three times. “Be fierce, Ajay,” he adds, with a mocking smile.

 _This sucks._ “Ugh,” Ajay groans and turns so he doesn't have to watch Pagan walk away from him. “Don't... be a stranger.”

He can hear Pagan chuckling as he walks away and Ajay immediately turns back around to watch him go. Pagan's walk is unhurried, and he seems no worse the wear for saying good bye. Ajay burns his stupid pink jacket into his retinas so he'll never forget, never have a day where he wakes up and can't remember this man's face.

He waited too long. It's too late. His chance has literally just walked away from him.

Until he turns around.

Ajay can't quite get his face under control, he doesn't know what was splashed there, but whatever it was causes Pagan to stride back his way, determination in every line of his body.

_Shit, shit, shit, damn!_

He manages to get himself under control by the time Pagan is within earshot, but Pagan doesn't seem interested in talking. Instead, he crowds into Ajay's space, and rests his hands on Ajay's hips. Ajay opens his mouth to ask, ' _what_ ' or maybe ' _Pagan?_ ' or maybe even ' _What's wrong?_ ' but he doesn't get a chance to say any of those things.

Because Pagan is _kissing_ him.

Pagan drags him closer, hooking his fingers into Ajay's jeans, pressing against him flush, so no space is left between them. It takes a moment, but Ajay gets with the program quickly. He drags his arms around Pagan's neck, clinging with everything he's got and he kisses back.

_Finally._

Pagan seems to have been waiting for his response, because he deepens the kiss, crushing their lips together and licking into Ajay's mouth. He lets go of Ajay's pants to thread his fingers into the hair at the back of Ajay's head, angling their mouths together, and dragging a high pitched groan from his chest.

For his part, Ajay crushes himself against Pagan, letting the curl of arousal flavor their kiss, the longing and the waiting shattering under their intensity. When another sound threatens to break free, Pagan drags himself back a few inches to stare down at Ajay.

Ajay leans up for another brief kiss, and Pagan slots their mouths together tenderly, closing his eyes and leaning in ever closer. “Be safe,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ajay's lips.

“Don't forget me,” he says quietly, and presses their foreheads together, one last time.

“Never,” Pagan promises.

He backs away slowly, and Ajay watches him go every step of the way. It isn't perfect, but it was theirs, and Ajay can be happy with that. He waits until Pagan has rounded the corner before he turns back to his things, and he manages to get himself under control before he has to board the flight.

Later, once he's over the Pacific, and the stewardess' have all left him alone, he can curl up in his seat, and imagine the day that Pagan finds him again. It's easier to think of that than the difficulties in finding a new apartment, new job and everything else on his plate.

But Kyrat taught him how to be strong, he just needs to find his own way.

For now, he has a life to get back.

*tbc


	7. vii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is much later than I wanted it to be. I work the graveyard shift, 11pm until 7am, and I got stealth carried into first shift (7am until 3pm) and was only released from my position at noon. So I did a quick and dirty edit - and here it is.
> 
> The final chapter in this ridiculous saga. This won't be the last time I write Pagan/Ajay, but this was definitely the most fun. 
> 
> I want to thank all of you for your comments, and your kudos. Even when I thought I wasn't going to finish on time, I knew I couldn't let you lot down. Thank you, again, for all that you do. I look forward to finding out what you thought about this.
> 
> WARNING FOR CHAPTER: We finally earn the rating! Also there are random OCs that make up the people in Ajay's life, no one particularly important except as plot goes. I toyed with the idea of making some of Ajay's friends be Jason Brody and Oliver Carswell, from Far Cry 3 but then thought that might be too complicated to explain, later on.
> 
> The song, quoted at the beginning of Pagan's chapters, the beginning of Ajay's chapter and the epilogue is of course, "Heavy is the Head" by the Zac Brown Band, whom I had never heard of before starting to write this story. I fell in love with the line "loved by few and judged by many, he bears that weight alone" because I felt like it encompassed Pagan. It's the driving force behind this story, it really is.

PART SEVEN – EPILOGUE

_crying out, go and wake the king_   
_call to arms, for those who kiss the ring_   
_stand your ground, the walls are coming down_   
_it's do or die, do or die_   
_heavy is the head that wears the crown_   
_(heavy is the head that wears the crown)_

 

“Uh... hi. My name is Ajay Ghale. I'm really um, really bad at this.” He runs his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. “I failed a course at college in public speaking. And this is really only crap to distract you from the fact that I'm sort of falling apart here.” He clears his throat, and stares very hard at the concrete floor. “I'm not a soldier. I never.... never went to basic, never served my countr-- never served for the United States. What happened to me was an accident.”

“What happened, Ajay?” Someone asks him, gentle, probing.

He doesn't look at her, he doesn't look at any of them. “My mother died, about a year and a half ago. She uh... wasn't from here. Her last wish was to be taken back to her home country and buried with 'Lakshmana'. I thought it was a place, I could go in, fulfill her wishes, and come home. That's... that's really not what happened.”

“Start from the beginning, Ajay,” someone else says, and Ajay can't look at him either. He can't believe he's even doing this, but he promised Dr. Foster that he'd try.

He clears his throat again, twists his fingers in the spare fabric of his jeans and says, “The country was at war. A civil war. The King was a dictator, and the people had enough, and the people were lead by idealists who idolized one man.” He manages to wrench his eyes up to look at the people surrounding him in the room. “The man who started their Path. He um... he turned out to be my father. As soon as they found out I was in the country, I was kidnapped, and the only way to survive was the fight for my life.”

“Your father?” someone asks, blurts really – and someone else shushes them.

Ajay nods, because that's actually the easiest part of the whole story. “Yeah. My mom brought me here when I was three, I never knew my father. As far as she was concerned, I never had one.” He squeezes his fingers even tighter. “So like I said... I never went to basic. I never served this country. But I can take apart an LMG with my eyes closed and put it back together in less than five minutes.”

“And why are you here today, Ajay?” someone else says, but Ajay recognizes Dr. Foster's voice.

His fingers tremble where they sit on his knees. “Because I'm intimately aware of what an explosive round does to someone's skin,” he whispers, and shrugs his bad shoulder enough to reveal the scarring.

Someone sucks in a sharp breath and that makes Ajay look up again, meeting a man's eyes. He's older, probably closer to Pagan's age, and in a wheel chair. He looks wrecked, and Ajay's used to his lot, the physical therapy and the screaming night terrors he has from his own blood soaked memories. He never expected anyone else to have the same reaction to his pain. “But you were a civilian,” the man says.

“I was,” Ajay agrees. “But they didn't care about that.”

“You've been going to this Speak Up group for a long time, Ajay,” Foster says gently.

Ajay nods, and tries to relax his shoulders and hands. “Yes.” He meets her eyes from across the circle. “I'm bad at this, talking to people in a group, being the center of attention. But the situation back... there... has improved. The friends I made kept in touch, they feed me information sometimes. And I thought... maybe it was time to move on.”

The rest of the meeting passes as it always does, with various people talking about their war trauma. He escapes before anyone can corner him, because he might be more willing to talk about Kyrat but not so much willing to answer real questions about it.

Turns out he doesn't really need an excuse, as his phone begins ringing two steps from the door. He looks down and sees Sabal's name on the screen and answers with an amused, “Sabal, isn't it late for you to be calling?”

“Tell Sabal that it's totally okay for me to like boys!” Bhadra shouts into the phone, her voice a bit echo-y and strange. She's got him on speaker.

His grin widens and he says, “Sabal, it's totally okay for Bhadra to like boys,” as serious and dutifully as he can.

There's a loud, echoing scoff from the other end of the phone. “She's the Tarun Matara,” he protests.

Ajay rolls his eyes because no one is around to look scandalized if he does it. “She's also a fifteen year old girl,” he reminds the other man.

He meanders his way through the park outside the community center where he attends the Veteran's Speak Up group and finds a bench to sit on. Bhadra giggles in his ear and she says, “Thanks Ajay, you're my favorite dad.”

That makes him laugh, a little too loudly, judging from some of the looks he gets. “Yeah,” he drawls, “considering who my competition is, that's really not saying much.”

Sabal snarls something in unflattering Nepalese and Bhadra gasps. “He's not being very nice to you,” she informs Ajay brightly.

“Sabal is never nice to me,” Ajay says, with no rancor. He grins when the grumbling gets further away, and Bhadra's voice suddenly isn't so tinny anymore. “So what did you want to talk to me alone about?” he asks, more nonchalant than he feels. “And why did you feel the need to play Sabal to get him out of the room?”

There's a faint creaking on the other end of the phone line, which forces Ajay to check to see if the call dropped. “It's just...” Bhadra says a second later. “I've been spending a lot of time at the Monastery, you know. And it's nice enough, I guess, because Amita is there, but I don't...” she trails off, but Ajay lets her work it out on her own. “I don't like Raju,” she whispers.

Ajay suddenly goes very, very cold. All his limbs freeze in a flash, and he has to consciously tighten his grip on the phone so as not to drop it. One of the early time lines, he'd spent a lot of time at the Monastery, trying to find god, or Kyra and answers. Raju had confessed to him on one such occasion, that he was behind Sabal all the way because he was interested in Bhadra, and wished for her to bear him five sons.

He'd never spent any length of time with the man after that.

He'd also totally forgotten about the incident.

“Ajay?” Bhadra whispers. “Please say something.”

Licking his lips and swallowing hard, Ajay says slowly, “Bhadra, where is Amita right now?”

She pauses for a second, and her voice is even smaller when she replies, “somewhere outside, I think.”

“Okay. When you're in the Monastery, I want you stick close to her and Sabal, okay?” He wishes he could be there to give her a hug, but that's the price he's paying for needing to go home. “Raju is probably harmless, but he's a big believer in the old ways, and you're... well, you're a young, pretty girl.”

Bhadra sighs explosively. “You believe me?” she asks, hushed. “You're not even going to ask Sabal or Amita about him?”

He chuckles dryly. “Bhadra, sweetheart, I know everyone in Kyrat. I don't need to ask anyone anything. You're the Tarun Matara, right? If he gets too close or freaks you out, tell him Kyra is displeased with his antics and to cease and desist or be dishonored by the gods.”

“Thank you, Ajay,” she says quietly. “I don't know what I would do without you.”

At least he's getting better at staving off random panic attacks now. “Of course, Bhadra,” he answers. “Any time.”

She hangs up with him after some small talk and Ajay sits at the bench for another ten minutes to make sure he isn't shaking. He has a shift at the bookstore in twenty minutes, it wouldn't do to be tearful and panicky right?

_Right?_

*

Ajay learns four things once he gets his new phone set up, a few hours after landing back in Los Angeles. One, he has so many voice mails his mailbox is full, Two, his things are all in storage, Three, he suddenly has a shit ton more money in his bank account that he's ever seen in his life, and Four, he has no idea what to do now.

Eventually he calls someone to come get him at the airport, after an agonizing deliberation on which would be more likely to actually be willing to do so. He settles on his friend Dylan, someone who had seen him through heroin withdrawals and stuck around beyond that.

Dylan lets him crash on his couch until he can find an apartment, and he lives off his bank account _(Jesus Christ_ Pagan, three quarters of a million dollars? Tax free?) until he can find a job. He finds a therapist in short order when he wakes Dylan and his girlfriend with his nightmares, and she suggests a medium income job that has nothing more exciting than a rogue power outage.

So he finds a job at a local bookstore, gets an apartment that he could fit his mother's house in twice over and gets a cell phone plan that lets him call Kyrat. A week becomes a month, a month becomes six months, and six months becomes a year.

He calls Sabal or Amita – sometimes both together – at least once a week, to keep in touch and catch up. Bhadra is growing by leaps and bounds, and slowly Kyrat is healing.

And so too is Ajay.

His therapist, Dr. Foster, is pleased with his progress and in a way, so is Ajay. He sleeps through the night again, and he only has slight panic attacks when he's startled by familiar noises.

He misses Pagan intensely.

It takes less than a week to try the number he'd saved in his phone, but it's out of service. He has no way of contacting the older man. And now, a year and a half later, Ajay is single, medicated and utterly bored of living a normal life.

But that's all in the past, now. He has his life back, has forged new connections, and only thinks about the pink-clad dictator once a day instead of once an hour.

So, he turns towards the book shop, and jerks hard when someone wraps their arm around his shoulders. Ajay can't help the way he curls inward, reaching for a kukri that he hasn't carried in long enough that his hand has almost forgotten the feel of it's haft. “Shit!” Dylan says, letting him go and backpedaling spectacularly. “I am so sorry!”

Ajay pinches the bridge of his nose, ducking his head and trying to calm his breathing. Once the smell of gun smoke fades away and he can see the street stretching out before him, Ajay turns to his friend with a wan smile. “Hi,” he greets, because screaming ' _what the fuck_ ' in polite company is generally frowned upon.

For his part, Dylan does look genuinely regretful, and he reaches out to straighten Ajay's jacket. “I'm really sorry, Ajay. I just saw you, I didn't mean to sneak up on you.”

He just shrugs and shakes his head. “It's fine. It's better than it was, remember the last time you snuck up on me?” Dylan winces, touching his nose in remembrance. “So what's up?” Ajay asks, gesturing for his friend to join him. “Walk and talk though, I have to get to work.”

Dylan falls into step beside him and they head down the street towards the Arts District. “I was going to text you, but when I saw you I figured I'd offer the invitation in person. It's Hannah's birthday tomorrow, we're all going to Thistle for dinner and drinks.”

Ajay curbs his initial response of reminding Dylan that he can't drink, and takes the offer in the spirit it was intended. “Sure,” he answers, managing a friendly smile. “What time? I might get there late, I close the shop.”

“Probably around eight?” Dylan says, “What time does the bookstore close?”

That's actually doable, and Ajay isn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. “Nine, I'll probably be out around nine-thirty or so.”

Dylan beams, knocking his shoulder into Ajay's. “That's fine, we'll hold dinner for you. Thistle serves until eleven anyway. Gives us more time to get drunk.”

“Oh now it all becomes clear,” Ajay jokes. “You're only inviting me to be your Designated Driver.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Dylan's grin widens, as they come up to the store. “So you'll be there? You don't have to drive if you don't want to. I know most people are out of your way.”

Ajay snorts a laugh. “I also don't have a car. Meaning that driving your ass home at four in the morning would leave me stranded upon your good graces. So let's not?” He reaches out for a fist bump and gets a hug, which is slightly baffling, but he rolls with it. Dylan's still probably feeling guilty for the almost panic attack.

“See you tonight,” Dylan agrees.

He's greeted by his boss as soon as he enters the staff office, and he smiles briefly at her. “Hi Emily,” he says. “How was the morning?”

“Oh, morning was fine, a little busier than normal. We've been toying with the idea of doing book signings and children's hours, you remember the meeting. Had our first Children's Hour this morning at ten.”childcare’s She pushes her hair out of her eyes. “I'm just trying to look up the most popular books, and see which authors I can even get in touch with.”

He leans over her shoulder to look at her desk, sees the latest serials from Patterson, and James, a few others he doesn't immediately recognize, and the fourth Harry Potter book. “I wouldn't go with the mainstream authors,” he says, tapping on Mary, Mary. “They pump out a book a year, and are probably really busy. I would go with a young adult author.”

She turns in the seat to look at him, pushing Mary, Mary and a few others to the corner of her desk. “What are you reading right now?”

“Ah – um, well. I'm not?” Ajay gives her a sheepish look, tugging off his jacket and dropping it over the back of a chair. “I like reading, but I don't.. have a lot of time. If I'm just sitting around reading, I'm not keeping busy enough.”

Her eyes soften a little and she pats his wrist. “I understand,” she says. “Well, we'll figure it out. Maybe non-fiction...?” she trails off, turning back to the books and paperwork in front of her, letting Ajay slip out the door and onto the floor.

Mostly, he sorts through the books left behind by customers, occasionally mans the coffee shop section but he's really good at stocking, which is what he'd been hired for in the first place. Kyrat damaged his mind almost irreparably, but he's never been stronger physically.

Ajay's immediately put to work by a coworker, her expression somewhat harried. “Ajay, thank goodness. I need you, come here.”

Bemused, he follows where she leads, and has to stifle a laugh once she gets there. Just behind the coffee counter, where they keep their spare travel cups and extra coffee, is a box, teetering just too high for Lynn to reach. Ajay catches it with ease, drawing it down and handing it off, to her annoyed huff. “Anything else?”

“No,” she grumbles. “I'll holler if I need your freakishly long arms.”

That makes Ajay laugh, and he goes about his day, restocking the New section with the best sellers of the last month. It's simple work, and he can lose himself in the repetitive motions. His shift goes by quickly, and he helps Emily lock up before turning and heading wards downtown. “Hey!” Emily calls, and he turns around, having only managed to get a few feet away. “You going to be okay walking home alone?”

He grins, and she takes a step forward when she sees it. “Don't worry about me,” he says. “I know how to take care of myself.”

But Emily frowns at him. “That's sort of of what I'm afraid of,” she says. “You sure you don't want me to walk with you?”

He thinks about it for a second. He's worked for Emily for over a year now, and she's not generally prone to worrying about nothing. And she's clearly seen something in his smile that makes her nervous – he's had to relearn being genuine, which is slow going – so he shrugs, steps up to her and says, “Sure, if you don't mind coming with me to Thistle. It's a friends birthday tomorrow.”

It's with relief that Emily walks with him to the bar, promising that she'll take a cab home. Ajay steps into the bar, watching Emily snag a taxi before going to join his friends.

Dylan and Hannah greet him enthusiastically, Hannah even going so far as to stand and give him a hug. That's startling, a little, not because he doesn't like the touch, but because she's never been a touchy person. “Hi,” he says, pleasantly surprised. He hugs her back, lifting her off her feet a little. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks, Ajay,” she says, and leads him to the seat next to Dylan. “I think Bill and May are coming,” she adds, leaning in a little to be heard. “But that's it.”

That's a relief, actually. Ajay hasn't done well in crowds since getting back from Kyrat. Too many people at his back makes him tense, too much tension gives him a migraine, the migraine makes him tired, and then he has nightmares. It's a vicious cycle he can't seem to escape yet, so he takes himself out of it simply by keeping his social interactions to a low number.

Since his return to the States though, he's not been allowed to drop off the face of the map, his friends – the ones who had nothing to do with the stupidity from his early teenage years – refuse to let him hermit himself.

His medication doesn't allow for alcohol, but he's pretty excited for the bar's nachos, and relaxes against his chair, happy Hannah had put him in the one closest to the walls. He really does have amazing friends, and he grins quietly to himself over his glass of Coke, even as Hannah and Dylan argue over spicy wings or barbecue wings.

Bill and May stop in for a half hour, arriving one after the other and sitting as far from each other as possible at the table. Anyone looking at them would have no idea they'd been together for ten years or more.

Wow. Ajay blinks and has to take a careful breath as the cold throb of agony pierces his chest. He _misses_ Pagan.

“Who are you thinking about?” Bill asks, leaning in close.

_Shit._

Ajay blinks and lets his expression clear. “Nothing,” he answers. “Er. No one. I'm fine.”

Bill laughs at him, raising one eyebrow. “That was super convincing.”

“I... um, I left someone behind, a year and a half ago. No, he left me behind. No, we went our separate ways. He promised to stay in touch. He hasn't.” Ajay hid his expression behind his glass. “You and May reminded me of how much I wish he had.”

The dose of melancholic memories colors the rest of his dinner, but spending time with his friends is healing in it's own ways.

Bill suggests they all walk Ajay home, since no one is in a great state to drive, and truthfully, Ajay is glad for it. He's alone so often now, and he's been on edge since arriving. The night is quiet, it reminds him of nights he'd gone to sleep in bell towers, and woke up to outposts under attack, of flinging himself through trees and over ledges to get there, to help Sabal, or Bhani, or Achal.

Halfway between his apartment and the bar, his instincts prove him right. Four men step out of the shadows near them, all visibly armed. “You lot,” the one in front says, “will come with me.”

Ajay slips ahead of them, standing in front of his friends as the muggers usher them into the alley they'd appeared from. May huddles in close to Bill, and Hannah grips Ajay's hand briefly. “Wh-what do you want with us?” she asks, and the mugger grins.

He pulls a gun out of the back of his pants, holding it lazily. To Ajay's trained eyes, he's the only one who has one, the other three look like backup. So Ajay smiles a little, slides his fingers from Hannah's and steps insolently up to the man with a gun.

“You'll want to back the fuck up,” he growls, shoving the gun at Ajay's face. “And empty your pockets.”

Ajay shakes his head. “No, I _don't_ think I do want that. You really picked the wrong target.”

The mugger laughs, sounding a little incredulous. “I don't think you noticed the gun?”

Without glancing at it, Ajay shrugs one shoulder. “Oh, I noticed it. I just don't care about it.”

“I will shoot you, pretty boy,” the mugger threatens, and prods Ajay in the shoulder with the barrel of the pistol. It's his bad shoulder, so he barely feels it.

So Ajay grabs the man's wrist, twists it hard to the left and catches the gun when it falls out of his hand. With quick efficient motions, he yanks out the magazine, and drops it to the ground, before pulling back the chamber and dumping the last bullet there. “Mm,” Ajay says, holding the now useless gun, “No, you won't.”

The mugger has backed up now, taking refuge behind his friends. His friends all pull out knives, small thin blades that almost make Ajay laugh. The knives are hardly good enough for spreading butter, let alone threatening someone like him. “That was real stupid, pretty boy,” the ringleader snarls from behind his cronies.

They never learn.

Ajay hasn't disarmed and incapacitated anyone in long time, over a year and a half – Paul was probably the last person he disarmed on purpose – but he remembers how to take down a man. He leaps forward, a chaotic motion to throw off the person on the left, and he ducks under a wild swing to come up behind his arm, slamming his hand with the knife hard enough to break bones.

He catches the falling weapon, turns, and uses it to parry the strike from the second mugger, spinning enough to keep himself behind them. He uses that momentum to kick out the back of the man's knee, sending him crashing to the ground. Ajay simply plucks the knife out of his hand, before turning and slipping under the guard of the third mugger to press one of his two liberated knives to his throat. Ajay raises one eyebrow and says, “drop it,” in the most mild voice he can muster.

The thug does, and Ajay kicks it away, back towards his friends. He turns back to the ringleader, still holding his knife steady. “You were saying?”

He can't look at his friends, not yet. He doesn't know what he'll see on their faces, and before now, he'd been so careful not to show them how much he'd changed after Kyrat. How his reflexes had been honed, how he'd become a killer. But it's too late now, they're safe but they saw, and Ajay will deal with the fallout when it comes.

The ringleader backs away, hands in the air. “Alright, alright, you win. Christ. Let's just forget this ever happened, yeah? You can go on your way, we'll forget we ever saw you.”

Ajay nods once, jerking his chin towards the entrance to the alleyway. “You first. Leave the gun.”

The mugger goes, and his friends scramble after him. It isn't until Ajay can't hear their running footsteps that he drops his borrowed weaponry, and heaves a sigh.

With mounting trepidation, he turns to face his friends, all of whom are standing just off to one side. They'd likely moved out of the way for the idiots who fled, but Ajay had been concentrating so hard on listening to their attackers that he hadn't noticed their movement. “Everyone okay?” he asks, just like he would have during a skirmish in the hills of Kyrat.

No one says anything for a heart stopping minute. “Holy shit,” Dylan finally remarks, his voice even. “That was fucking awesome.”

His friends swarm him, not touching him but crowding into his space, all beaming. Not a single expression holding any fear for him. Or of him. “That was kick ass,” May swears, bouncing a little on her toes. “Can I have one of the knives!?”

Confused, he just hands one over silently, as Bill says, “oh god, why would you do that, now she'll want to learn how to use it.”

A little numb, Ajay says, without thinking, “I could teach you.”

That makes May squeal like a little girl and the sound breaks Ajay of his shocked confusion. “Seriously,” he says, “is everyone okay?”

“We're all fine,” Dylan answers. “What about you, are you okay?” At his question, all the excitement drains from his friends faces, leaving them concerned.

“I uh...” Ajay says slowly, “I'm okay. No injuries.”

“Yeah but dude,” Dylan says, “He shoved a gun in your face.”

That makes Ajay smile. “Wouldn't be the first time.” He hasn't really talked to his friends about Kyrat, only that he'd arrived to find the country stuck in a civil war, one that his unknown and absent father had started before he'd even been born, and that the rebels had stuck a gun in his hand and never asked him to fight.

“Okay,” Hannah says, always a voice of reason. “Let's move this inside. We can regroup at Ajay's, if that's okay.”

“Sure,” he says automatically. He recognizes that he's moving on autopilot, but it will get him home and safe, so he's willing to let the sign of a panic attack slide for now. Better to meltdown at home with friends than in the middle of an alley where anyone could come back to.

So he let's Hannah take his hand, let's them lead him back to his apartment. He knows they're all chatting – notices that they're not talking about what happened in the alley – but he doesn't remember a thing of what got said. He has to be prompted a few times to put in the PIN for the electronic door at the base of his apartment complex, but he manages it on the first try.

His hands aren't even shaking.

Once they're inside, Hannah leads him to the couch and he sits down without prompting. “Will you tell us?” she asks, gently.

Ajay blinks at her. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you get so good at hand to hand combat?” Bill asks immediately, sitting on the far end of the couch and turning sideways to face him.

Really, Ajay feels like that's the stupidest question he could be asked. “Because if I didn't learn, I would have died?” he points out, probably too belligerently. “I've always had a pretty good physical aptitude.”

Hannah sits next to him, curling her body towards him. “You must have gotten injured.”

He winces, because he's managed to keep his shirts on around them. His shoulder, side and back do not look good. At all. “Yeah, sometimes,” he says. “Nothing I couldn't come back from.”

“But no one asked you to fight for them?” May asks, and of course that's what she focuses on.

Slowly, he shakes his head. “No.” He's not really being fair to Sabal or Amita if he leaves it there though, so he says, “At first, they were helping me out of a bad situation, and then their main village, it was burning. So I helped repel the attack because it was literally fight or burn. And then after that, what else was I to do? I couldn't reach the place I needed to go because I was on the wrong side of the country, and the only way to get there was to clear the way.” His jaw sets, and the same steely determination shivers through him. “I needed to go, so I cleared the way.”

“You did what you had to,” murmurs Hannah. “You survived.”

He shoots her a wan smile. “I always do.”

He knows Dylan is thinking of the time before Kyrat. That's Ajay's life now: broken into time lines of Before Kyrat, and After Kyrat. Of the friends in his apartment now, only Dylan knows how close Ajay came to jail time, only Dylan knows how strung out on heroin Ajay once had been. “So,” Dylan says, “do you need us to stay the night?”

Ajay wants to say no. He does, he wants to have survived PTSD as accurately as he had survived Kyrat. But his limbs are cold, and his chest is tight. So he nods once, and doesn't speak.

His friends break away, Hannah going into the second bedroom to help May pull out the futon, and Bill going to the linen closet for spare blankets. Ajay will let them figure out who is sleeping where.

Dylan puts one hand on Ajay's good shoulder. “Sometimes,” he says quietly, “When you smile, it looks like it belongs on a shark.” Ajay nods, though he's never practiced smiling in the mirror, he believes what his friend says. “How many people have you killed, Ajay?”

_Anything but that question._

“A lot,” Ajay answers.

But Dylan only nods, pulls him off the couch and says, “G'night, bro.”

The question sticks in Ajay's mind, as he lays down in bed. He doesn't actually know the answer, since the time lines have begun to bleed together in his mind. Some rotations he'd not killed anyone, and some he'd slaughtered without thought or planning. Some time lines he'd fallen into a blind panic, and chosen a random direction.

He'd done his best, this last time, to keep his casualties to a minimum. He'd saved de Pleur, he'd saved Noore. He'd saved Sabal and Amita, and all their people. He'd saved Pagan.

Not that it truly mattered in the end.

Wherever he is going when he finally dies for real, he's very sure it isn't Shangra La.

He's not the sort of man who deserves peace.

*

He just manages to fall asleep, Dylan next to him on the bed, Hannah curled up on the loveseat from the living room when his phone starts to ring abrasively by his ear.

Dylan groans loudly, and hits Ajay's arm until Ajay leans over and answers it without looking at the caller ID. “What.”

“Did I wake you, brother?” Sabal's warm voice says through the phone. “I wasn't certain of the time.”

Ajay sighs explosively and climbs out of bed, nearly tripping and falling on his face in his exhaustion. “Sabal, it's like two in the morning.”

Sabal's wince is audible. “I am sorry, I just... I needed to speak with you, brother.” Ajay picks his way around the living room, heading for the kitchen. He sits on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets. “I can call you at a more reasonable hour, if that is your wish.”

“Meh,” Ajay answers. “What's up?”

There's a slight pause where Ajay can practically see Sabal weigh his options. “I came out of meditation this morning,” he begins carefully, as though anticipating Ajay's eye roll, “and I had the urge to call you and ascertain you were well.”

Snorting, Ajay closes his eyes and tilts his head back to rest against the counter. “Did Kyra tell you to?”

Long used to Ajay's profane speak, Sabal doesn't rise to the bait. “Perhaps. Perhaps I just know you, and worry for you on my own. I don't need Kyra to have that.” There's a short pause, and Sabal asks, “... did something happen?”

“I uh... almost got mugged today. This evening. A few hours ago.” Ajay chews on the inside of his lip, a habit he picked up after starting the medication. “I disarmed them. All four of them. It was easy.”

Sabal is quiet, letting him speak, but when Ajay trails off, he says, “did you hurt them?”

“No,” he answers. “I wanted to. They threatened my friends.”

The smile in Sabal's voice is audible, and he remarks, “Kyra forbid that anyone do such a thing, hm?”

“Yeah, Kyra forbid.” Ajay sighs. “How's things back there?”

“Rebuilding goes apace,” Sabal answers genially. “We've opened the borders to foreign interests, and a major drug company – don't ask me the name of the pharmacy, I let Amita deal with that – has come in to help produce morphine and other legal opiates, considering the soil is rich for the garbage.”

That's a relief, at least. “That's good though.”

“It does put food on the table,” Sabal agrees. “Amita, Bhadra and a few others have moved into the Palace, don't worry brother, I won't let anyone touch Lakshmana and your mother.”

Another relief, and Ajay can feel a knot in his chest loosen. “Good.”

“We've gotten some tutors to come in through India, and they're due to arrive any day now. Bhadra was lucky enough to learn English now she must focus on her schooling before becoming Tarun Matara.”

Ajay can vaguely remember his mother mentioning that she'd been tutored for most of her teenage life, but at the time Ajay had been failing History and hadn't cared that she'd lived such a charmed life. “So you moved Bhadra out of the Monastery?”

“More or less,” Sabal answers. “She's still there for now while we clean up the Palace. Min had deplorable taste in decoration, and an alarming number of rooms are bright pink.”

The bark of laughter Ajay has to that is way too loud. He claps a hand over his mouth and laughs quietly, or tries to. “Not a fan?”

“ _No_.”

That makes Ajay laugh again, and any lingering tightness from the almost panic attack on the couch fades away with it. “Thanks, Sabal,” Ajay murmurs after a moment of companionable silence.

“For what, brother?”

He's not really sure he can articulate it but he opens his mouth to try when Hannah shuffles into the kitchen. “Ajay?” she mumbles sleepily. “Who're you talking to?”

Ajay pulls the phone away from his mouth to answer, though he doesn't cover up the receiver. “My brother,” he answers without hesitation.

She frowns, her entire bearing sleep muddled. “Oh. I didn't know you had a brother,” she says.

“Yeah,” Ajay murmurs. “Neither did I. Go back to bed, Han. I'll be going back to sleep soon.”

She wanders away, and he can faintly hear her talking to Dylan through the open doors of the kitchen and bedroom. “Brother?” Sabal prompts, and there's a new weight to the word now. In all the time lines, the longest and shortest, Ajay's never accepted the term of endearment so vocally. He's never protested it, never mentioned it, and he's definitely never reciprocated it.

But it's true, even if it took him a few hundred years to figure it out. “Yeah?” he answers.

“We... _I._.. wish you'd come home.” There's a painful earnestness in Sabal's tone now, and Ajay sighs, looking down at the floor. “I know why you can't. But the Golden Path isn't the same without you.”

Ajay snorts again. “You had the Golden Path before I stumbled into it,” he points out. He yawns hugely, his jaw cracking a little. His medication really hits hard at night, and he really should be sleeping.

Sabal chuckles. “Where are you right now, brother?”

Slumping into the cabinets, Ajay mumbles, “In my kitchen, sitting on the floor.”

“... Why are you sitting on the kitchen floor, Ajay?” Sabal asks, sounding amused.

“Got people in my room, making sure I don't kill myself or die from a panic attack or something,” he answers honestly.

He doesn't really mean to say it, and he feels a little like he's belittling his friends affection for him. But Sabal definitely takes him at face value because he suddenly sounds very alarmed, and says, “Ajay! Is that a fear we have to start worrying about?!”

“No,” he grumbles. “I have overbearing friends.” That part is definitely true. “They were there tonight, they're just scared.” He yawns again, and feels the world waver a little bit. “Sabal, I need to sleep.”

“Okay, brother,” Sabal murmurs. “Will you call me or Amita tomorrow?”

Ajay clambers to his feet. The world dips a bit to the left but he holds still until it stops. “Uh huh,” he answers. “Serves you right if I call you in the middle of the night.”

“You can call me whenever, brother.” Trust Sabal to take all the fun out of revenge late night calling. “Sleep well, Ajay.”

“Give my love to Bhadra.” Ajay manages to hang up the phone before falling face  
first into the bed, and lets his brain turn off.

He'd been expecting a nightmare of epic proportions, but his dreams are empty and he doesn't remember them in the morning.

*

He wakes to a cup of coffee being literally thrust in his face, and Ajay opens one eye to scowl at May. “People are sleeping here,” he grumbles and tries to roll over.

“It's like ten thirty, lazy ass. Get up, you have work!” May prompts, and prods him in the ass with her finger.

Ajay groans loudly, burying his face in his pillow. “Not until one this afternoon,” he says, muffled. “I can still sleep!”

“Nope. Get up.” She keeps prodding him in the hip, side and shoulder until groaning obnoxiously, he sits up to drink the coffee she's still holding. “We just want to talk to you before we all go our separate ways, okay, Ajay?”

He sighs, blowing on the hot drink. “Fine.”

If he's being honest, talking has been done to death. He goes to therapy once a week like he's supposed to, he takes his med every day, he goes to the Speak Up group every two weeks. He does everything he's supposed to, and most of it involves way to many eyes staring at him while he struggles for his words.

After May leaves him in his room alone, he dresses quickly, trying to drink his coffee at the same time. He prefers tea now, after so much time in Kyrat but he's never been able to find the ginger honey stuff that Pagan fed him after Yuma's drug cocktail had the worst come down he'd ever experienced.

At least that last time line he managed to more or less avoid Yogi and Reggie. They were mostly harmless, but the Golden Path ran them off the Ghale property at some point and they disappeared into the mist. Especially after Noore went out of business as the Master of the Arena.

He comes out into his living room to find his friends all clumped around the coffee table eating donuts. “Okay, I know I didn't have those in my kitchen,” he says, and steals the last jelly doughnut from the pile just before Dylan could.

“I went out and got some,” Bill says easily. “You didn't have much more than toast.”

Ajay scowls at him. “I have eggs, and cheese, and bacon.”

May makes an alarmed face and shakes her head rapidly. “No, no, god, no. Don't let Bill cook, ever.”

Ajay snorts, dropping into a seat next to Hannah and May. “Can any of you cook?” he asks, baffled. A few years ago, the Ajay before Kyrat couldn't do much more than burn water. But now, after Kyrat, he's learned quite a bit. When all his friends shake their heads, he blinks. “Huh. I would have thought at least one of you.”

“Do you cook?” Bill asks curiously.

He debates for a second on whether to tell them the truth but eventually he says, “... Yeah. I spent a lot of time in Kyrat going hungry. I decided to learn once I got home.”

Surprisingly none of his friends remark on his hunger comment, instead May says, “ooh, you should cook for us sometime soon.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ajay eats his doughnut a little gingerly, trying to avoid getting powder everywhere. “So I'm here. I'm more or less awake. What did you want to talk about?”

Hannah clears her throat. “We just want you to know that we're here for you. That what happened last night was clearly triggering for you, and really scary for the rest of us. But Ajay, you saved us – you disarmed four separate people! - and no one got hurt. You're amazing, and if you're worried about us running away because you're a little intense now, don't. Okay? We love you.”

Ajay's frozen in place, doughnut halfway to his mouth, coffee cup trembling in suddenly shaking fingers. “Um,” he says.

“Also,” May pipes up, “the intense warrior bit you have going for you is really hot.”

The surprised laughter that bubbles up unlocks his muscles enough to put the cup down and finish his doughnut. “Well,” he says after a moment or two of chewing. “I'm glad you weren't scared of me. But I really don't want to talk about Kyrat anymore. It happened, but it's over.”

“You still talk to people from Kyrat,” Bill points out. “That's who called you last night, right?”

Ajay sighs. “Yeah. My therapist things I should cut ties with them too but I can't. Okay? They're my friends too. Family, even.”

But Bill shakes his head. “Not what I meant. You can do as you like, Ajay. I don't care if you're still friends with people from Kyrat. I was just curious.”

Ajay snorts, finishing his coffee and looking mournfully down at it until May takes his empty mug and goes into the kitchen with it. He has to hide his triumphant grin, but he gets the impression that he isn't fooling anyone. As soon as she comes back with fresh coffee, Ajay says, “Thank you. My first friend was Sabal, he's one of the new regents of Kyrat, his partner is Amita. They both run different parts of the country now, it's probably the only reason they still get along. Then there's Bhadra, the real heir to the throne. She's only fifteen, which is why she needs Sabal and Amita.”

“Sabal called you last night,” Hannah says, putting the pieces together.

“Yeah, he's pretty religious, I know don't laugh, and he said he _had a bad feeling_ , so he thought he would call to see how I was.” Ajay shakes his head. “I'm not sure which is freakier, the fact that he listens to his feelings like that or the fact that his feelings were right.”

Ajay fiddles with the handle of his mug. “What about Amita, is she religious?”

“ _Kyra, no,_ ” Ajay says, horrified. “I can't even imagine that. No, she's very progressive, wants to drag the whole country kicking and screaming into the 21st Century. She used to grill me on what it was like here, when she could catch me long enough anyway.”

May snorts, and she says, “I could introduce her to a few people.” Ajay's eyes go very wide, thinking of some of the people May knew. “Think they'll ever come visit?”

“Yeah, maybe. Also, May please don't ever introduce Amita to your feminist protestors. We'd never survive.” He steals another doughnut, turning a little to glance at the clock. “There were a few others that I spent a great deal of time with. Bhani, Achal, and Pranav: they were the truck drivers that smuggled goods across Kyrat. I used to help them do protected runs.”

Dylan, who had been largely quiet for the conversation, suddenly sits up and points at Ajay. “You should write a book!”

“W-what?” Ajay blinks at him. The thought had never occurred to him, considering he's terrible with his words probably ninety percent of the time.

“Yeah!” Dylan says, clearly warming to his topic. “You could title it: How I survived Kyrat, or something. Talk about your experiences and change the names or whatever.”

More like _The Inevitable Love Story between Two Idiots_ , Ajay thinks and smiles to himself. “Yeah, no. I would be terrible at it.”

But all his friends are traitors. “No, it's a good idea, Jay,” Bill pipes up, as May nods enthusiastically at his elbow. “I think you could be good at it.”

“I'll think about it,” he says eventually.

They finish the donuts and find their way to better topics, and eventually Ajay has to get to work, and he laughingly kicks his friends out so he can shower and get ready.

And if he's at work later, and he finds himself writing down titles for his autobiography that he's _not writing_ , well, no one else has to know.

*

_Far Cry, by Ajay Ghale_   
_Far Cry, by Anonymous_   
_Further from the Truth, by Ajay Ghale_   
_Far from the Truth, by Ajay Ghale_   
_Time Lines by really Ajay? This is a terrible title._   
_Finding Lakshmana, by Ajay Ghale_

“What are you doing?”

“Gah!” Ajay jumps, knocking over the books on the table, his pen, and the chair, as he flings himself away from the voice that had appeared over his shoulder.

Emily gasps, taking a few steps back, her hands held up and hovering between them. “I am so sorry!” His boss flutters about for a second, scooping up his pen and books. “I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I stomped up the stairs so you'd hear me.”

Ajay rubs his forehead with two fingers, wincing. “I must have been concentrating.”

“That's what I was asking about,” Emily teases gently, leading him back to his seat and righting the chair. “These look like book titles.”

He cringes. “They are. My friends put a stupid idea in my head, to write a book about my experiences overseas. I'd have to change a lot of the names, and it's a terrible idea, but it stuck.”

She holds out her hand for the paper he'd been writing on, and he hands it to her reluctantly. “Finding Lakshmana,” she repeats. “Who's Lakshmana?”

“Uh.. My half...sister.” He sighs. “She died when I was a child, so I didn't remember her. But my mother died two years ago, and she asked me to bring her back to Lakshmana. That's why I was overseas.”

Emily nods like the explanation makes perfect sense even though Ajay left out huge gaping holes of information. “Did you find her?”

“... Yeah. It didn't go like I expected.” He clicks his pen a few times, a little nervously. “I don't speak to people well, so I don't know why I'm even thinking about this.”

Emily pats his wrist. “Maybe a part of you thinks it will help.” She smiles at him, and hands him back the paper. “Well, I know a few people who have been published if you want any advice. There are some writers groups you can go to.”

Agonized, Ajay groans. “Not another group.”

His boss just laughs, shaking her head. “You don't have to go. But do let me know how it goes if you do write anything. I'd love to read it.”

He spends the rest of his shift thinking about it, building words in his head, and discarding most of them before they can even fully form. But he likes that last title he'd written down: Finding Lakshmana.

Much later, after his shift and after he's safe behind the locks of his door, he sits down at his laptop and opens a document and starts at the black screen until his eyes go cross and blurry.

Finding Lakshmana.

> _When my mother died, she only gave me one instruction: take me back to Lakshmana._
> 
> _She'd lost a long battle with ~~cancer~~ sickness, cancer found too late to save her from. Though my childhood was far from idyllic, more my fault rather than hers, she'd always been a font of strength for me. To watch her ~~die~~ waste away was terrifying. I took care of her, as any son would, and when the time came and the only thing the hospitals could do was give her hospice and a prayer, my mother took my hand and made her last request._
> 
> _She said she'd left Lakshmana in the country of her birth, and regretted the decision ever since. She said that she'd kept secrets for my entire life, and she was sorry for it, because now I had no time to prepare. (Later, I would realize what she meant and wish for that time.)_
> 
> _My mother lived only a few hours after her confession, and once I held what was left of her, I made plans to take her back to Lakshmana._
> 
> _I didn't know then, but Lakshmana would be the least of my worries, and finding her would be the easiest part of returning to ~~Kyrat.~~_

“Ajay,” Dylan says seriously, “this is really good. I mean, for a start.”

“I hate you,” Ajay grumbles in answer, hiding in the pillows of his couch. “This is all your fault.”

Dylan waves that away, closing the laptop and turning to face Ajay where he lays on the couch. “Never mind all that,” Dylan says, with a wide grin. “Are you really going to write this?”

“Apparently,” Ajay says sourly, sitting up to look at his friend. “I can't believe you like it. That took seven hours to write.”

But Dylan only nods. “Seriously though, I want to know what happens next. Like, how was finding Lakshmana the easiest part? What else happened?” He shakes his fist at Ajay in mock anger. “I want to know more!”

Ajay chews on the inside of his lip, feeling a little sheepish. “I'll get there?”

That makes Dylan grin widely at him. “You do find her though, right?”

“I found her,” Ajay assures him. “But I couldn't leave right after like I wanted. It was all fighting and honey badgers, and high speed chases across the countryside.”

“Honey badgers?” Dylan asks, baffled.

Ajay winces. “Don't ask. And _don't say it_!”

But Dylan over rides him easily. “I thought honey badgers didn't care?”

Venomously, Ajay grumbles, “No, Honey badgers are tiny furry angry fuckers that will go after you no matter what.”

Laughing Dylan says, “tell us how you really feel.”

Ajay sticks his tongue out, and heaves himself off the couch. “Thanks,” he adds, somewhat belatedly. “For reading it, and not telling me it sucks.”

“I look forward to reading more.”

Ajay doesn't think they should bet on it, but after his shifts at the bookstore, he finds himself logging into his laptop and pecking away at the keys, writing one excruciatingly phrased sentence at a time.

*

Another six months pass without note, except that Ajay has found a stride with writing, and he's making progress through Finding Lakshmana. He lets Dylan read each chapter as he completes them, but no one else.

Writing about Kyrat is cathartic, but when he gets to the parts where he becomes friends with Pagan Min, his heart aches just a little more. It was easy to forget that the man was a dictator for most of their friendship, that he'd stabbed Darpan in the shoulder with a fork, and forced him to scream for help off a balcony where no one could hear him.

It had been easy to forget that Pagan killed in cold blood, because at the end of the day, so had Ajay. They'd done it for different reasons: Ajay's chiefest concern was survival, after all, but Ajay could throw no stones at death and killing.

He's in the middle of his shift at work, when Emily comes up the stairs with a perturbed expression on her face. His boss is pretty level headed and she doesn't often get flustered easily, but she hesitates before speaking. “So...” she says, “There's a man here to see you.”

Ajay blinks at her. His friends do occasionally come visit, but Emily has met all them. Since she's not using a name, it must be a stranger. But for the life of him, Ajay cannot think of a person who would come into the store to speak with him. “Uh, alright? I'll go down now.”

Since the upstairs is a balcony that overlooks the rest of the shop, Ajay can see someone sitting in the comfortable chairs by the coffee bar, and the sight of a charcoal gray suit sends a barb of angry displeasure through him. He's not sure why he expected it to be Pagan, but the lack of pink is a dead give away.

Pagan's gone, he isn't coming back, and Ajay really needs to let him...

“Ajay? My, look at you, dear boy. Not a zippered pocket to be seen.”

... Go.

Ajay stops, on the last step of the stairs, looking over at a much subdued Pagan Min in a charcoal gray suit. His limbs lock up, everything freezes, and he can only stare in mute shock at the other man. His brain is caught between two thoughts that are complete opposites: punch him! And kiss him!

There's a wavering sort of apprehension in Pagan's face, his eyes are uncertain and the set of his mouth is trembling a little. “Ajay?” he asks, very quietly.

The longer Ajay takes to respond, the farther Pagan's face falls. His expression is shutting down, the uncertainty bleeding away to a blank apathy, his mouth setting in a mulish pout. Ajay is going to lose him if he doesn't _snap out of it_.

“Well,” Pagan says, a fake and brittle brightness to his words, “This is not at all going how I'd planned.”

“Yeah,” Ajay rasps out. “Didn't really expect to see you where I work.” It hurts to talk around the lump in his throat, and he swallows hard, forcing the pressure down. “Actually, after the – the first six months, I kind of stopped expecting to see you at all.”

Pagan actually flinches at that. “I know,” he says quietly. “I thought I was... giving you time. I know intimately well what Kyrat does to a mind, dear boy, I wanted you to heal.”

Ajay barks a hard laugh. “There's no healing from this,” he says, splintered steel and anger. “So, you're here. _Why_ are you here?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Pagan says, and he gazes up at Ajay, letting the masks fall from his face, leaving his expression heart breathtakingly open. “I am here for you.”

There isn't a word in the English language that can describe what he feels when Pagan says that. It's elation tinted with bitterness, happiness colored with anger, attraction combined with hatred. It's all of them at once, and Ajay turns from Pagan abruptly. “Stay,” he grinds out. “I'll be right back.”

His boss is waiting at the top of the stairs and she hurries to him when he gets within reach. “Another Kyrati relic?” she asks, and he nods, jaw clenched. “Go home,” Emily advises. “I'll close up alone tonight or get Lynn to come in and help. Don't let him sit there for another five hours waiting.”

Ajay snorts, bitterness overflowing. “Would serve him right,” he grumbles, getting his jacket. “He made me wait for two years.”

Emily stops him from going down the stairs with a gentle hand on his wrist. “Two wrongs,” she reminds him gently. “Text me in the morning if you're not going to make your shift, okay?” He nods, managing a small smile for her. “Good luck,” she adds.

To his credit, Pagan hasn't moved an inch since Ajay went upstairs. He's still waiting, but his expression has melted back into the bleak hopelessness that Ajay wants to kiss away. Ajay jerks his head at the exit, and leads Pagan out without speaking.

He's quiet on the walk home, answering Pagan's questions in monosyllables, or by nodding and shaking his head. He gives half a thought to texting Dylan or Bill and having them meet at the apartment, neutral parties to keep Ajay's head where it needs to be.

They walk up to his apartment, side by side, and Ajay is quietly glad that he keeps his home almost militantly clean, now that he's introducing Pagan to it. He opens the door, and gestures Pagan inside. “You know,” Pagan comments once the door is closed, “I really didn't expect to find you working in a shop.”

Ajay quotes Dr. Foster: “medium income job with nothing more exciting than a rogue power outage.” He shrugs one shoulder, taking off his jacket. “It's calming.”

Pagan nods, but he doesn't look like he understands. He glances around the living room and says, a shade of his familiar mocking tones, “Well, I see your deplorable sense of style doesn't translate into interior decorating. This isn't half bad, you know.”

“This from the man that painted rooms bright pink,” Ajay mumbles, for lack of anything better to say.

Pagan sniffs derisively. “There is nothing wrong with pink, darling. I can't help that you're blind.”

The familiar banter breaks some of Ajay's tension, and he uncrosses his arms. “You're not wearing it now,” he points out, because Pagan looks somehow wrong in gray.

“Mm, come closer,” Pagan invites. Ajay isn't really sure what Pagan intends with it, but his tone is warm and despite his reservations, Ajay moves closer.

Which is when his eyes focus and he sees it. The suit is a fine charcoal gray, and running vertically through the whole thing are tiny thin pinstripes of pink. “Seriously?” he groans, and Pagan grins widely.

“We can't all change so much,” he says, and he looks Ajay up and down. There's no mistaking that expression: it has intent. “We can't all look dashing in our green jackets and denims.”

Ajay had actually forgotten about that jacket. “No more green zippered jackets,” he says. “I had to throw the thing out – it was kind of ruined.”

He'd been inching his way forward, arms length, closer, to Pagan. And when he finds himself close enough to smell the faint notes of gardenia and ocean air, only then does Ajay look up. Pagan is staring down at him, his eyes focused and dilated.

“I...” Pagan says, very softly, bending his head towards Ajay. “I thought you would have moved on by now. I had near to convinced myself of it, that two years home would have rekindled old flames. That I was a fool for wanting to see for myself.”

Ajay presses his forehead to Pagan's and sighs. “The only old flame I have left is you,” he says honestly. “And I'm so fucking angry right now, Pagan, you have no idea. _Two years_ , you waited. And so did I.”

Pagan leans in even closer, brushing their noses together. “I'm going to kiss you now, dearest boy.”

Ajay might have kissed him first, but he doesn't think anyone is counting.

Pagan tastes exactly the same as Ajay remembers, and he deepens the kiss in response to the sense memory. He can't help but wrap his arms around Pagan's neck, pressing himself as close as he can get to the other man.

They crowd each other, and Ajay digs his fingers into the short stubbly hair at the back of Pagan's head. Pagan shivers hard, and he pulls away to stare down at Ajay, his eyes nearly black. “Ajay,” he murmurs, “I really want to take this at your pace, but I'm having very real trouble going slowly.”

Ajay smiles, and presses a kiss to Pagan's chin. “It's been two years,” he reminds, far gentler than the energy in his body feels, “fuck going slowly.” He slips his fingers down Pagan's jacket clad shoulders, dropping them to the other man's waist and tugging up the white shirt tucked into his pants. He wants skin against his fingers and the back of Pagan's neck is not enough.

Pagan groans, the sound vibrating in his chest as Ajay scrapes his nails over the small of Pagan's back. Rucking the shirt up as much as the suit jacket allows, Ajay presses his hands to Pagan's back, clinging a little to their closeness. “Are you sure, dear boy?” Pagan asks, even as he chases Ajay's mouth for another kiss.

“Two years,” Ajay repeats, and he tries to sound firm, but his voice cracks on the last work. “Come to bed with me.”

He slides his fingers away, tracing the line of Pagan's slacks, grinning at the sharp inhale that it gets him. “As the King commands,” he murmurs, catching Ajay's hand and lacing their fingers together.

So Ajay leads him to the bedroom, the bed messy and slept in, and let's Pagan walk him backwards against it. He sits on the edge, leaning back as Pagan drops one knee for balance. It leaves Pagan hovering over him, and Ajay smiles, leaning up on his elbows for another kiss.

It's novel, a bit, to just lay on the bed and kiss. Pagan shrugs out of his suit jacket, leaving the no doubt expensive article on the floor. Without the jacket hindering the movements of his shoulders, Pagan presses Ajay into the bed, bracketing him with his knees.

With nimble fingers made slow by languorous kisses, Ajay starts in on the silk shirt he'd already untucked, the material slipping around his fingers easily. As soon as the shirt is open and Ajay has unfettered access to Pagan's chest and stomach, Pagan drops his weight down onto Ajay, pressing burning kisses against his lips and throat.

Not to be put off, Ajay tilts his head to the side to give Pagan better access, and pulls at the shirt until Pagan shrugs that off too. “This is feeling very one sided,” Pagan murmurs against Ajay's overheated skin.

In answer, Ajay lets him go long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head and throw it off to one side. He'd managed to stay clothed around his friends since returning from Kyrat. He knows what his shoulder and side look like. He's not... ashamed of the melted scar patterning over his skin. It's just not pleasant to look at, and sometimes when it rains, his arm aches like a fiend.

Ajay had thought Pagan would have known about the old wounds, but he seems as surprised as anyone would – anyone not having seen them before, anyway. He blinks, his lustful fervor banking slightly to be replaced with surprised concern. “This is from the factory?” he asks, trailing his fingers over the scars.

It makes Ajay shiver, and not entirely in a bad way. “Yes. Your man was – he was using explosive rounds.”

Pagan watches him for another moment, before he leans down swiftly and presses an open mouthed kiss against the topmost scar on Ajay's shoulder. While Ajay pauses in surprise, Pagan drags his lips and tongue from scar to scar until the pleasure surpasses the discomfort and he's writhing up against Pagan.

He's been hard since they'd gotten to the bedroom but it had felt secondary to the ease and excitation of exploration. Now though, Ajay hasn't been touched since before Kyrat, long before Kyrat. And Kyrat had taken, by his count, around twenty eight years before he'd been released from Kalinag's magic.

He is starving and Pagan is only feeding the fire. The last scar is just above his tenth rib but Pagan drags his mouth even lower, over the swell of Ajay's hip – no longer jutting out, now that he's eating regularly – and through the light dusting of hair on his belly.

Ajay must make some noise, because Pagan looks up and grins at him, keeping his mouth pressed to Ajay's skin. If Pagan puts his mouth anywhere lower than where it is, things will be over all too soon. Ajay hooks his fingers in the curve of Pagan's jaw, tugging lightly but insistently upwards.

Looking amused, eyes glittering and dark, Pagan follows, but in revenge settles his hips right in the hollow of Ajay's, grinding both of their cocks together through jeans and slacks.

The groan torn out of Ajay's throat is almost animal, and he wraps his left leg around Pagan's and flips them. Pagan's surprise at being pinned is almost comical, until it vanishes under the pleased grin he shoots Ajay.

In answer to that grin, Ajay leans down and kisses Pagan again, licking into his mouth and driving his hips against Pagan's. He can feel fingers in his hair, and Pagan's tongue is in his mouth, so he slides his own against it and grinds down harder against Pagan's rolling hips.

“Fuck!” Pagan swears quietly, dragging his mouth from Ajay's. “Darling, taking our pants off has just become top priority, otherwise, one of us or both of us will be making quite the mess.”

Part of Ajay is really one hundred percent alright with coming in his pants. At least until Pagan slides his hands into the back of Ajay's jeans to grip his ass and squeeze. Then he can't get them off fast enough. He gets them off his hips, kicking them off and crouching over Pagan with a grin. “Now who's one sided?” he asks, and cups Pagan with one hand through his slacks.

Pagan groans, arching up. “Cruel,” he says, a hint of a whine hooked under his tone.

With an agonizing slowness that Ajay's body screams at him for, he slips the buttons on Pagan's slacks, tugging at them lightly until the other man arches his hips. He leaves the fine clothing on the floor, and stretches himself out on top of Pagan. Ajay kisses him, a gentle thing, and murmurs against Pagan's cheek, “I missed you.”

Pagan wraps his arms around Ajay and murmurs back, “I miss you too, dear boy.” They lay there, legs entwined simply kissing for long minutes before the blood burning arousal demands for more.

Ajay drags his fingers from Pagan's hair to wrap around both their cocks, grinning wildly when Pagan jerks hard with another whining groan. He slides his fingers smoothly over them, biting a mark into Pagan's shoulder when he swipes his thumb over the heads, one after the other.

After a second of stunned pleasure, Pagan grabs Ajay's hand, and together they make a tight fist they can grind into. Ajay's already shaking, he's been on edge so long, and Pagan's hand is warm and calloused in all the right places. He bites his lip on a whimper, and Pagan looks down to catch his gaze. “Stay with me,” he rasps out, his voice a husk of his normal tones. “Come for me, oh Ajay, I am so very close, darling, it's been so long,” he rambles brokenly.

Orgasm is approaching fast, burning his bones and with another agonized whimper, Ajay changes his angle and digs his thumb into the sensitive underside of the head of Pagan's cock.

Pagan shouts, his head thrown back as he comes, and Ajay follows not a moment after, spilling between them and slumping to one side, fingers still tangled with Pagan's.

After a moment or several of even breathing, Ajay manages to crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. He runs warm water, getting a cloth to clean them up, and Pagan barely twitches. “Sorry, dear boy,” he murmurs. “But I'm afraid if you were expecting round two, I need at least a half an hour. Perils of getting old, I fear.”

Ajay just kisses his shoulder. “Nah,” he says, “Have a nap. I'm not going anywhere.”

But Pagan waits until Ajay has tossed the cloth into his hamper, wrapping himself around Ajay. They lay there in the late afternoon glow of sunlight through the blinded window, Pagan lips against Ajay's injured shoulder. Ajay covers Pagan's hands with his own, and lets the lassitude of pleasure sink him under.

*

He'd had plans to wake Pagan up with a blow job, but instead he hears a bellow and an embarrassed shriek. “Oh shit!” Dylan says, too loudly. “Ack! Hannah, no, wait!”

Ajay heaves a sigh, he can feel Pagan laughing at him through his shaking shoulders. “Guys, we really need to have a conversation about boundaries,” he calls.

“Well, you didn't answer your phone,” Dylan says, muffled. Ajay opens one eye to see him standing in the door way, with both hands over his face. “We were worried.”

“And I stopped at the bookstore earlier and Emily said you'd gone home early with some guy,” Hannah says, and Ajay can see her peeking over Dylan's shoulder.

Pagan lets go of Ajay to sit up, pulling the blankets around their hips with a show of modesty that Ajay didn't think him capable of. “As you can see,” he says charmingly, “all is well.”

But Dylan only narrows his eyes, looking through his splayed fingers. “Yeah, and you are?”

Ajay groans loudly, burying his face in the pillow. “Third degree later when we're not naked, please!” he begs. “Go away, we'll be out in a little while.”

With some urging from Hannah, Dylan backs out of the room and closes the door behind him, so Ajay sits up, looking apologetically over at Pagan. “They seem nice,” Pagan comments blithely.

He flops back against the bed. “Apparently,” he grumbles dryly, “privacy is for other people.”

Pagan grins and pokes Ajay gently in the side. “I was king of Kyrat for over twenty years, darling. I understand completely.”

He heaves himself out of bed, stopping to kiss Pagan's smiling mouth before heading to his dresser. “Do you want something to wear? Or will you put your suit back on?”

In answer, Pagan holds up the wrinkled slacks, pulling a dramatically horrified face. “These won't do for meeting the friends you call family, Ajay really.”

Dryly, Ajay throws a pair of green pajama bottoms at him. “Yeah well I don't a perfectly tailored suit in your size. Or my own size. So you'll have to deal with casual.”

Pagan catches the pants, tugging them on without bothering to put anything on under them. He puts on his white button down, doing up only the middle two buttons. “Am I presentable?”

“Um.” Ajay hooks his fingers in the pants and pulls Pagan closer, kissing him again. “Yeah.”

There's a charmingly shy expression on Pagan's face at Ajay's reaction, and Ajay thinks he might even be blushing. “I suppose I do pass muster then, if that is your reaction.” He brushes the backs of his fingers over Ajay's scarred shoulder, which reminds him to go hunting for a t-shirt.

A few minutes later, Ajay is ready to face his friends, though he's not really ready for the third degree and interrogation they're going to put Pagan through. He's not even sure what they should say: Ajay certainly never told either of them that his friendship with Pagan was _this_ kind of friendship.

He doesn't even know how Pagan feels really, they've never spoken of it. Obviously the attraction is mutual, but Ajay's been half in love with Pagan since they'd shared ginger honey tea on a red comforter.

They exit the room together, and Dylan scowls in their general direction. “You're not naked,” he points out instantly. “So are you going to tell me who the hell this guy is?”

Hannah perks up, her head whipping around to face them. “Oh! Ajay! Is this Sabal?”

Ajay is torn between hysterical laughter and a horrified exclamation. Pagan beats him to it, making a strangled noise that could be 'no' but also could be laughing. Ajay winces, covering his face with his hand. “No, Han. This is most definitely not Sabal.”

Pagan clears his throat loudly and says, “Darling, if they suspected I'm Sabal, I think you have a lot of explaining to do about your relationship with him.” He gives both Hannah and Dylan a charming smile. “It's very good to meet Ajay's friends,” he says kindly. “I, of course, am Pagan Min. I assume you've heard of me?”

Dylan, who'd been holding his phone like a threat, drops it with a loud bang. “You're – What! You're Pagan Min? The King of Kyrat? The guy who – the guy who stabbed someone with a fork?”

Pagan twists around to look at Ajay, utter confusion splashed across his face. “Who?” he asks.

Ajay bites his lip, because that was probably the wrong reaction. “Um, Darpan,” he answers quietly.

“Oh, him. He was a terrorist.” Pagan turns back to Dylan, the smile reappearing. “You can see that we've worked past that.”

Suddenly standing up, Dylan crowds Ajay into backing up towards the bedroom he'd just vacated. “Excuse us,” his friend says with thinly veiled hostility. “I need to have a word with Ajay here.”

When Dylan wants to go somewhere, there's no protesting, so Ajay just docilely follows him into the bedroom. “Don't yell,” he pleads.

“You certainly didn't include this in your book!” Dylan hisses, poking Ajay in the chest. “He's in love with your mother!”

He still might be, but Ajay is resolutely not thinking about that. And he's definitely not saying it out loud. So he shrugs instead and says, “She left him over twenty years ago, and she died three years ago. People move on.”

“Yeah sure, people move on, but not usually to the son of their missing lovers!” Dylan says. “Are you going to write about this in the book?!”

“I wasn't planning on it, no.” Ajay sighs. “Dyl, I barely understand it myself. I just know I how I feel. And it's not hurting anyone, he – he came for me.” He hasn't really let himself think about it yet, that Pagan had promised not to forget him, and he _hadn't_.

Whatever he's thinking must show on his face because his friend groans, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh my god, you're in love with him.”

“That... wasn't immediately clear upon finding us in bed together?” Ajay asks wryly. “I haven't exactly been open to relationships since returning.” Sighing, Dylan just turns around and goes back to the living room without speaking. “Rude!” Ajay calls after him, hurrying to catch up.

Dylan walks right up to Pagan, glaring at him. “I'm going to ask you some questions,” he bullies, not gently. “You're going to answer yes or no to them.”

Pagan blinks at him for a second, his expression says how novel this experience is, but after a pause he grins. “Alright, I'll humor you. Ask your questions.”

“Are you in love with Ajay?” Dylan shoots at him immediately, looking horribly vindicated when Pagan fails to answer right off.

Ajay can't see his expression anymore but he's not sure he wants to know the answer like this so he says quickly, “you don't have to answer that – Dylan, he doesn't have to answer that!”

But Pagan holds up one hand, and Ajay almost takes it before he realizes Pagan is asking for silence. He fidgets instead, carefully not looking at Hannah. “Dylan, was it?” Pagan asks, and out of the corner of his eye, Ajay can see Dylan nod once. “It's been two years since I last saw Ajay,” he says mildly. “I left him alone in an airport and walked away from him which was the hardest thing I have ever done. I waited, visions of his finding a happy family a constant torment, for two years. I thought of him every day, in truth I thought of little else. So if you truly require an answer to your question: yes. I am.”

Ajay blinks. He jolts a little, wanting to reach out, but his thoughts are moving like molasses. “Pagan,” he murmurs, but Pagan doesn't react as though he'd been heard.

Instead, Pagan crosses his arms over his chest, and even dressed in Ajay's clothing, he looks every inch the King. “I have loved him since he called me and asked me for my opinion on the state of the country, based his actions off my words instead of Sabal's, and nearly died because of the men my commanders deployed. I spent two agonizing weeks thinking he was dead.” Here, Pagan slides his eyes to the side, as though to catch Ajay's eyes. “Love is too weak a word for how I feel for him, boy.”

“Uh,” Dylan coughs, “Are you going to leave him again?”

Ajay flinches, and he shakes his head. “Really, you're going to keep asking more questio-- fine. Ignore me.” Dylan doesn't even react to his question, and the only sign that Pagan hears him is the way his back tenses a little.

Pagan purses his lips. “I have foreign interests to look to,” he answers evenly. “I have primarily been a businessman, you know. I'm not an American citizen, so yes, one day I will have to leave.”

“Then why come back at all?” Dylan demands, as though he's the one who'll have to deal with the heartbreak of waking up one morning and finding Pagan gone. Like the questions aren't tearing Ajay's heart out one vein at a time.

“Because,” Pagan says with a lightness Ajay doesn't understand. “On the day that it happens, I hope to convince Ajay to _come with me_.”

That seems to derail Dylan's questions, and he turns to look at Ajay, expression apologetic. Ajay gets it, his friends are protective of him – they've seen too many panic attacks and bad choices not to be. Dylan knows him better than anyone, he has five little sister he plays big protector to.

But Ajay isn't used to it, not anymore and he needs – he really needs a moment. He spares Pagan a pained but heartfelt smile, before turning on his heel and striding into the kitchen.

He has no real reason to be in there, so he just leans his palms on the cool marble of his counter top and lets his head hang down, simply breathing. His mind is trying to untangle all the information he'd just received, jumping from one point to another without his permission.

“Things were simpler, back in Kyrat,” Pagan says gently from behind him. “They were worse, certainly, but simple. You had a part to play and so did I, and much of those parts were spent as enemies.”

Ajay shakes his head, but doesn't move. “You took care of me as a child, when my mother couldn't. You were never my enemy.” He's paraphrasing something Pagan said in one of the time lines, and even considering the very first rotation where the last thing Ajay said to Pagan was 'fuck you' before choosing not to shoot him, they were never truly enemies.

“I did say that once, didn't I?” Pagan muses, and his shadow falls across the counter top as he moves closer. “We could never develop this, back then. You had Sabal, and I had – memories.” He means Ajay's mother then, and Ajay closes his eyes. “But by the end of all that, we had the possibility. That is why I am here now, dearest. To find out where that possibility leads.”

Slowly, Ajay turns around. Pagan is in the doorway, apprehensive, open, honest. Past him, Dylan and Hannah sit on the couch, facing away from them. The illusion of privacy even if they haven't left yet. Ajay scratches the back of his head, stalling for time, trying to untangle his words. “Yes,” he says. “I want that too. I don't know what I'll tell Sabal, if I tell Sabal. But I want that too.” He looks away, at the floor, eyes stalling on Pagan's bare feet. “And when you have to go back to... wherever. I'll go with you.”

Pagan's feet move closer, a quick two step that brings him within touching distance. “For how long?” Pagan asks quietly, reaching out with two fingers and touching Ajay's chin to raise his head.

Mind made up, Ajay softens his expression in a smile. “However long you'll keep me for.”

Eyes lighting up, Pagan leans in slowly and kisses Ajay. There's love in the kiss, and tenderness, and longing, and Ajay gives back as good as he gets. He relaxes against Pagan and wraps his arms loosely around the other man's waist. “That's a relief,” Pagan murmurs. “I was entertaining nightmares of you sending me on my way without so much as a kiss goodbye.”

Ajay smiles, tucking his head against the side of Pagan's neck. “Nah,” he says lightly. “It'll be an adventure.” He breaks away from the embrace, and leads Pagan back into the living room. Dylan's face is contrite but Ajay scowls at him. “Hannah, hit him for me.”

Obligingly, she does, socking him in the arm closest to her without hesitation. “What was that for?” he whines, rubbing his arm.

“For being a dick,” Ajay says pointedly. “Apologize.”

If Pagan were anyone other than himself, he'd wave it off, but instead he crosses his arms over his chest and waits, one eyebrow slightly raised. Dylan stares between them for a second before he deflates. “Sorry, Mr. Min. I was just trying to look out for Ajay.”

“Oh, _blech_. Call me Pagan, I'm not yet old enough to be Mr. Min, thank you _very_ much.” Ajay grins at Pagan's expression of disgust.

Hannah starts asking Pagan questions about China and Kyrat, but Ajay tunes her out, watching Pagan sit on the opposite couch to speak with her. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and listens to her with an earnest expression on his face.

Ajay's pretty sure that Pagan's more than ready to go back to bed and kick his friends out but he's willing to play along, which Ajay appreciates. He slips away for a minute to check what it's in the refrigerator, and when he turns back around five minutes later with dinner options floating in his brain, he finds Pagan watching him from the door way again.

“Your friends left,” he says, a gentle look in his eyes. “They offer congratulations, and demands that I meet the others, which frankly, is rather terrifying.”

Laughing, Ajay shakes his head. “You survived years worth of terrorism. I think you can survive my friends.” He leans in and kisses Pagan softly. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“God, _yes_.” Pagan is stripping off his shirt before Ajay can laugh at his enthusiasm, standing in the middle of the room without a care for the windows. “This time though, do lock the door.”

As they climb into Ajay's mussed and giant bed, clothing littering the floor, Ajay reckons that it doesn't matter how long Pagan can stay in the states. And it doesn't matter what he'll tell Sabal and Amita, later when he calls them – because he will call them. It doesn't matter that Ajay has Speak Up group, or medication, or horrible scars that no one else can see.

The only thing that matters right now is that Pagan loves him.

Curled up in Pagan's arms, Ajay leans in and kisses the older man's temple. “I love you,” he murmurs into his hair.

With a noise that's practically a purr, Pagan stretches and tightens his grip. “I love you too, Ajay,” he says and with the name, Ajay knows he means it.

None of the complications matter, in light of that.

They have a life to build. Ajay closes his eyes, tipping his head down to tuck it under Pagan's chin.

_Thanks, mom._

*the end


	8. viii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally get our resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long this has taken me. I lost quite a bit of work in a computer crash and didn't have enough handwritten notes to make up the lack very easily. Then I had half a hundred other things to do and work has been insane.
> 
> But, here we are. The very end, from Pagan's POV. This isn't the last of this pairing that you'll see from me, and I'm hopeful for the future in regards for works. I love every one of you for your unending support, especially those who found me on tumblr. (it's https://www.tumblr.com/blog/missdreawrites, for the record.)

PART EIGHT – EPILOGUE (PAGAN)

_black dog drinks from the water_  
_trying to cool his tongue_  
_like the king, he finds no peace_  
_his work is never done_  
_night falls, smoke on the water_  
_darkness closes in_  
_cold white hand in the deep_  
_will drown you for your sins_

*

“Mr. Fan?”

Pagan stifles a wince behind his cup of tea, before giving his secretary his undivided attention. “Yes, Elizabeth?” he manages to say without derision or boredom. It's something of a chore, the girl is lovely to look at but doesn't have much going on between her ears, more's the pity. And she never fails to mispronounce his name, despite repeated corrections.

She smiles widely at him, leaning forward a little to better emphasis her ample cleavage. Her regard is obvious, which is just bloody tedious. He gave up buxom women over twenty years ago, and he's too damn old for this shit.

Elizabeth smiles, leaning even more over his desk, taking her display from allure to desperate. “You have a visitor, but you don't have any appointments today. He insists upon seeing you though.”

He wrinkles his nose, setting his tea cup aside. “Did he happen to give you a name?” he asks, and hates himself a little for the jolt of pure hope that it's Ajay.

“R... something?” She at least has the grace to look sheepish when she can't remember. Pagan really should just fire her and get someone competent. He misses Eric and Gary immensely, they were the best he'd ever worked with.

“Oh you might as well let him in, go on.” He shoos her away with a hand gesture, settling back in his chair.

He's pleasantly surprised to look up and find Naveen standing in front of his desk, a half smile on his face. “Huan Fan?” he asks with a mocking edge to his tone. “Naveen Ruari.”

“You know, I do think we've met,” Pagan says with a laugh, standing to take Naveen's proffered hand. “It's good to see you, Naveen. How the fuck did you find me?”

Naveen chuckles, shaking Pagan's hand firmly. “I didn't get my job with you before because I was a good aim. There aren't many Chinese men with a Londoner's education who are also prime business men.” He grins, sitting in front of Pagan's desk. “Soon as I rounded up the rest of the Commanders, and we evacuated Kyrat, I amused myself by visiting family. Now I'm in search of a new job.”  
Pagan grins, pushing his teapot closer to Naveen in askance. “Ah, so your visit becomes clear,” he says, as the other man pours himself a cup of tea. “I suppose I could find a place for you.”

Sipping at his tea, Naveen just smiles. “That wasn't actually why I came, but I'll take the job if you're offering.” He looks down at his cup, surprise flitting over his face. “I haven't had this since leaving Kyrat.”

“I grew a taste for it,” Pagan murmurs, tracing the edge of his cup with one finger. “So then, what can I do for you, Naveen?”

Naveen smile brightens again, and he pulls out a large file folder absolutely stuffed full of papers. “Here,” he offers, putting it on the desk. “These are the last of the accounts, files, and dossiers for Nick, Eric and Thomas. Once we'd dropped them off to different corners of the world, my people kept in touch until everything settled down in Kyrat.”

Pagan blinks, rifling through the pages. “My, my,” he drawls, “I had no idea those three were so thorough.” He flips to their dossiers, the lists of plastic surgery they'd been willing to undergo, and turns to the pictures included. “Fuck,” he swears, recoiling. “What have they _done to themselves_? ”

Instead of being sympathetic, Naveen cackles, reaching out to pat Pagan's hand. “Well, I'm pretty sure Mister Huan Fan isn't a quadruplet, so they had to get some work done to change themselves, no?”

Gesturing at Eric's picture wildly, Pagan shakes his head. “This head,” he announces, “is _not_ meant to be _bald_ , Naveen ”

“Well you can show Ajay and get a good laugh out of it, at least,” Naveen offers, but his smile fades when he sees Pagan's expression. “What's wrong?”

Pagan leans back in his seat, closing the files. “Ajay is in California,” he says quietly, moderating his tone. “I haven't seen him in two years.”

Naveen's face goes blank. “No offense, boss,” he says after a long pause. “But you're an idiot.”

A few years ago, Pagan would have had him killed for saying such a thing. But Huan Fan is not nearly so blood thirsty, and besides, the old commander is right. Pagan's mouth twists, but it isn't a smile. “We never made any plans to the contrary,” he says. “The poor boy doesn't need any reminders of Kyrat, or me, or any of the things that happened.”

“If you haven't been with Ajay, what the hell have you been doing these last two years?” Naveen asks, still a little surprised.

That, at least, makes Pagan smile. “Oh, I invested in this pharmaceutical company that specializes in pain medication and distribution. Opiates, mostly – codeine, morphine, and the like. I work with what I know, and I know opiates.” Naveen nods, and Pagan lets his grin turn sly. “I'm _very_ invested in working with an unknown country in the Nepalese/Indian area, you know. They have the _perfect_ soil for poppies.”

It takes a second for the information to sink in, and Pagan has the true pleasure of watching Naveen's polite interest fade away only to be replaced with shock, amusement and surprise. “You're seriously working with Kyrat to produce more opiates?” he asks, leaning in and whispering loudly.

Pagan shrugs one shoulder, pouring himself more tea. “Oh, I let my General Manager deal with the face to face nonsense. It's so tedious otherwise, and apparently Amita heads up anything dealing with the poppies or the opiates, so there's that.” He swirls the tea around in the cup, contemplatively. “They've been very generous, but then again, I gave Ajay a promise not to leave the country without means.”

Naveen shakes his head, laughing softly. “Only you, boss.”

He flips the folders closed, giving Naveen a level look. “Thank you for this, really. Things really didn't work out the way I'd hoped, back in Kyrat. It's good to know that everyone got out safely.”

“That wouldn't have mattered to you, once,” Naveen comments lightly.

That's not inaccurate, and Pagan is briefly glad that no one but himself and Ajay remember the previous one hundred fifteen times they ran the gauntlet of the Golden Path's coup. Especially considering that Naveen had died enough times – usually from Pagan shooting him – that their easy friendship would be far less simple. “Yes, well,” Pagan drawls lightly, “I suppose we've all changed, haven't we?”

And how true that is, Pagan hates to think about.

There's silence for a few moments as Pagan struggles to realign his thoughts. Naveen gazes at him, his expression careful in a way that it never has been before, and finally his old commander says, “So, about that job.”

Smiling now, and in some ways, thankful for the obvious subject change, Pagan nods once. “Of course. Consider yourself hired.”

He checks his personnel list, and adds Naveen's name to the shipments manifesto with a few deft clicks. “Easiest job interview I've ever had,” Naveen comments with a sly grin. “Getting into the Royal Army was harder.”

“You seemed to do rather well there,” Pagan says, quirking an eyebrow. “An elaborate act?”

It makes Naveen laugh a little, but he shakes his head. “Oh no, getting into the army was easy. I had to kill six of my Commanders before I got the job myself though,” he adds and Pagan blinks.

He misses Yuma, at least a little, but he'll never understand how she conducted her business and her troops. “Unfortunately there won't be much of that, at least now.”

“Honestly?” the man says, and Pagan recognizes the look on Naveen's face; he'd seen it on Ajay's near the end. “I'm a bit glad for it.”

Truth to be told, so is Pagan.

*

His General Manager literally shoves him out of the room, her red hair flying wildly about her face. “I swear, Huan, if you do not get out of this room and let me do my job, you will not like what I do to the company ” she shouts at him, her thickly accented voice deepening. “I have a Skype meeting with Amita Rai in five minutes and I will not do it with your hovering.”

Pagan pulls a face, letting her usher him from their confrence room. “I wasn't planning on hovering,” he says, deeply offended. “I simply wanted to go over your plan for the distribution of poppies.”

She huffs a sigh. “Don't you trust me, Mr. Fan?” she asks, spots of color high on her cheeks.

 _Oops._ “Of course I do, Etain,” he answers soothingly. “I'm simply nervous – this Kyrat has marvelous numbers and I want everything to go right.”

Etain flaps a hand at him, but sparing a smile. “I understand that,” she says after  
a second. “That's why you hired me.”

It is, actually, exactly why he'd hired her. Pagan had promised Ajay he'd take care of Kyrat, but unable to remain, he'd had to come up with alternate ways to get money flowing back into the country. Since Ajay had brokered the peace between Amita and Sabal, Pagan knew that the way to save the country was through legal drugs, and that it would be Amita making all the decisions in regards to their production.

He'd hired a woman as his general manager to put her at ease, knowing how she felt about the religious nonsense in Kyrat. “Alright, alright,” he says, backing away from her lethal aim. “I'll be in my office if you need me.”

Through the thin door he can hear Etain sit down in her chair and the sound of the computer dialing via Skype. The smile is audible in Etain's voice when Amita's familiar tones answers the call. “Good Morning Ms. Rai,” she says warmly. “I'm glad you were willing to meet with me, on such short notice.”

“Of course,” Amita said and she sounds different, to Pagan's ears. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the proposal you emailed me, and I prefer a face to face meeting.”

And that, right there, was why Pagan had hired a woman.

“I'll be happy to answer any questions you have,” Etain says easily. “Let me open the proposal here, and we can go through it page by page.”

There's silence and some clicking before Amita says, “Our largest concern is workforce labor. We have an incredibly high unemployment bracket and we're more interested in finding ways to eliminate that rather than bring in foreign people to work jobs they could do themselves.”

Etain replies promptly, “Of course. I understand that. Let me see.. perhaps we could send a few experts in soil management and pharmaceutical management and they can join teams of your choosing to offer advice and be more easily connected with our base.”

Amita is silent for a minute or two, before she says, “That would be acceptable. Give me an estimate on the amount of jobs this will open for my people.”

Etain clicked a few times before answering. “Since companies are always growing, to start we're offering 500 jobs at the management position or below, and another 100 jobs for those will specialities and equipment skills.” Her smile thickens her accent further, but she adds, “If the soil remains rich and the agricultural advantages put us ahead of our competitors, that number will increase in a matter of months.”

There's another pause before Amita says, “You're offering us six hundred jobs.”

“To start, yes. Our experts will train yours in the way we require them, then pull out, leaving their jobs behind for your people. The more successful we are at harvesting good seeds for the morphine, the more product we can manufacture and distribute.. The more we can manufacture, we can discuss building a plant within Kyrat's borders – which would open even more jobs.”

There's a strange dissonent noise over the line before Sabal's voice asks, “And how much would the daily wage be for our farmers and workers?”

Etain doesn't seem surprised, even if Pagan is. “Hello Mr. Giri, I'm pleased to see you.” She clicks a few times before answering. “The answer differs depending on position and such, but we're prepared to offer a modest minimum of 400 to 800 rupees per day, with shift differentials of 100 rupees for anyone working the night shift, and weekends. When we begin distributing the morphine and other products, the wage will raise.”

“Eight hundred?” Sabal says loudly.

Amita huffs, sounding exactly like Etain. “Go away, brother,” she says. “I'll take care of this.”

Sabal clears his throat. “It was good to see you again, Ms. Stewart, I'll leave you to it.”

“I take it those numbers are acceptable?” Etain asks, and Pagan grins to himself.

“Yes,” Amita answers. “We'll accept your offer.”

“Excellent,” Etain says happily. “Let me send you the modified contract with the changes you put in, and you can electronically sign the document using the program itself. We'll begin sending you the experts and our building plans at the start of the new month. It's been a pleasure doing business with you. I'll see you in July.”

Amita pauses again. “You're coming with them?” she asks curiously.

Pagan's computer dings with the updated contract signed by both Etain and Amita, and he adds his own electronic signature to it. “Of course,” Etain says. “Who do you think is in charge of them all?”

“I suppose I assumed your employer, Mr. Fan would come,” Amita answers doubtfully.

Not in a thousand, million years would Pagan set foot back in Kyrat.

“Mr. Fan doesn't exactly enjoy flying,” Etain says, feeding Amita the lie that Pagan had fed her. “He will if he must, but it's not pretty. He trusts me to do any of the legwork that requires travel.”

Amita is smiling, he can tell by the warm quality of her voice, something Pagan has never actually heard personally before. “Then I'll look forward to seeing you at the airport in July, Ms. Stewart.”

“Until then, Ms. Rai.”

A moment later, Etain bustles into his office, grinning. “Am I allowed to say I told you so?” she asks him, dropping into the seat in front of his desk.

“Why do I put up with your cheek?” Pagan groans, even though he can't hide his smile.

Etain laughs. “Admit it, you'd be lost without me.” Her phone chirps at her, and she glances down at it, making a few notations with her finger. “Why is your security chief trying to set up a flight to San Diego?” she asks, baffled.

Pagan abruptly goes cold, all the good humor from their success with Amita draining from him. “He is?”

She hands him her phone and true enough, there's an email from Naveen to Etain telling her to convince “Mr. Fan” that he needs to go to San Diego. “What's in San Diego?” she asks when all Pagan does is look down at her phone.

He debates lying, but when he looks up at her, her expression softens into something like sympathy. “Naveen and I are old friends,” Pagan answers. “And there's someone in our shared history that I did not part well with. He's been attempting to get me to go visit him.”

“You should,” Etain interrupts. “Life's too short right? Besides, I'll be in Kyrat for the month of July, and we don't have projected distrubution times until mid August at the very earliest. What could it hurt?”  
Well, Ajay could refuse to see him.

“It might not go well,” Pagan admits. “I broke several promises to him, and dropped off the face of the planet.”

Etain leans forward a little, retrieving her forgotten phone. “Do you regret that?” she asks, and Pagan isn't really certain how to answer. If he's forced to be honest, he misses Ajay, misses their easy relationship from Kyrat, regrets what might have been if Ajay had stayed for crab rangoon during their first rotation before they knew they were stuck in the timeloop from hell.

He even regrets that he'd lied, for the first time in a long while. But there's also a fairly large part of him that doesn't regret any of that. Ajay is half his age, too young to throw away his heart on a capricous dictator who tried for several months to kill him and his friends.

Pagan's family loves well but not wisely. He's just another stereotype based off his father. He sighs, looking down. “Yes... but also no.”

“I know you're not looking for advice, Huan,” Etain says slowly, “but I think you should go to San Diego.”

He pulls a face. “I'll think about it.”

*

He goes to San Deigo.

It takes a little while to track down Ajay's place of work, even with Pagan's resources, but he manages it. He takes a car there, leaving Naveen behind in the hotel, with strict instructions not to interrupt, thank you very much.

Ajay works in a bookstore which strikes Pagan as odd, but it looks like an inviting place.

Pagan walks through the door, hands shoved in his coat pockets. It's rude to introduce himself to new friends – or old friends – in such a closed position, but it's more favorable than showing how affected he is. He's not been able to get his hands to stop shaking since getting into the car at the airport.

There's a young woman standing by a nearby stand and she turns towards him as he walks through the door. “Hi,” she greets with a sunny smile. “Can I help you?”

He does so love America and it's inherent friendliness. “Yes, actually,” he says politely. “I'm looking for someone, his name is Ajay Ghale?” He makes certain to pronounce it the way that Ajay himself does – had noted the irritation in the boy's face back in Kyrat when no one listened to him.

“Ajay?” She blinks, her smile fading a little into something slightly suspicious. “Sure. I think he's in the office, I'll get him. Have a seat.” She disappears up the stairs, leaving Pagan to search out a place to sit. The only chairs are facing the great windows at the front of the store, and he settles into one with only a slight hesitation.

A lifetime of expecting a knife in the back, it's hard to give his entire flank to a full room. At least until he hears the steps on the stairs. He's not ashamed to admit he scrambles to get out of the chair and turn to face Ajay.

“Ajay?” he asks, because the boy isn't _looking_ at him, “My, look at you, dear boy. Not a zippered pocket to be seen.”

The boy stops, eyes dragging from Pagan's shoes to his eyes, completely stock still, much like a sambar in the headlights. It's... definitely not ideal, and Pagan fights to keep his expression even. “Ajay?” he murmurs.

He doesn't respond, and Pagan is going to _kill_ Naveen for even suggesting that this was a good idea. Clearly, he was better off staying away and there's absolutely no way he can disengage gracefully. “Well,” he says, and his voice is a hairsbreadth from breaking, “This is not at all going how I'd planned.”

“Yeah,” Ajay says. “Didn't really expect to see you where I work.” He sounds wrong – off, somehow. “Actually,” he mutters, swallowing hard. “After the-- the first six months, I kind of stopped expecting to see you at all.”

Ouch.

Pagan takes a half step back because there is _venom_ in Ajay's tone. “I know,” he says, uselessly. “I thought I was... giving you time. I know intimately well what Kyrat does to a mind, dear boy, I wanted you to heal.”

When Ajay laughs, Pagan takes another half step back. “There's no healing from this,” he growls, and dear god. “So you're here. _Why_ are you here?”

What has he _done_ to the boy?

“Isn't it obvious?” Pagan asks, and stops modulating his expression. “I am here for you.”

The expression that slides through Ajay's eyes is beyond describing, and for the first time Pagan feels hope kindle in his chest. Then Ajay turns away from him and the flame extinguishes with a quiet murmur that should be a scream. “Stay,” Ajay growls, shoulders tense. “I'll be right back.”

Ajay disappears up the stairs and before Pagan can breath out in relief, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, thumbing on the display to read Naveen's text. **Going well?**

 **Not really**. He sends back the emoticon with the sideways grimace because he knows his guard hates texting.

  
**Is he at least willing to talk to you?** Naveen sends back in twice the time it would have taken Pagan.

Pagan sends back another sideways grimace face. **Willing is not quite the word I would use.**

**You can convince him, boss.**

Ajay's footsteps on the stairs prompt Pagan into sliding his phone back into his pocket. Ajay gestures to the exit just behind Pagan's shoulder. Pagan says, “do we need to call for a car?” but Ajay shakes his head and heads down the street. “Is it very far?” Pagan asks next, “Because if it is, I don't mind calling the car company.”

“No, it's not far.” Ajay's expression doesn't change a bit, and Pagan hates this silence between them. Hates that he has done this, damaged their relationship so badly that there is no ease anymore. The tension between them is excruciating, and Pagan is dying with each step.

The apartment isn't far, and Ajay leads Pagan up several flights of stairs before reaching his. It's an open concept, large, and very clean. “You know,” he says as the door closes behind him. “I really didn't expect to find you working in a shop.” He doesn't mean it in a bad way, Ajay had just seemed destined for amazing works.

Ajay shrugs one shoulder. “Medium income job with nothing more exciting than a rogue power outage,” he murmurs. “It's calming.”

Calming? Ajay thrived in Kyrat, he excelled, he chaffed when things were too calm. There was something wrong, something had happened to him, and Pagan wasn't there.

Pagan wasn't there.

“Well,” he says, a shade of his normal tone, “I see your deplorable sense of style doesn't translate into interior decorating. This isn't half bad, you know.”

“This from the man that painted rooms bright pink,” Ajay snipes back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Oh not this again. “There is nothing wrong with pink, darling. I can't help that you're blind.”

Ajay seems to relax a little, and he loosens his stance, turning to face Pagan openly. “You're not wearing it now,” he says pointedly, and Pagan grins. He was so hoping Ajay would say that.

“Mm,” he agrees, tilting his head a little. “Come closer.” And Ajay _does_.

Pagan spends the minute it takes for Ajay to notice the pink pinstripes in an agony of indesicion, caught between leaning in for a kiss or taking a step back to give Ajay his space. The dawning comprehension on Ajay's face momentarily derails him though, as the boy groans, “Seriously?” and gestures at the suit.  
Letting his grin widen, Pagan nods. “We can't all change so much,” he says, giving Ajay a loaded glance. “We can't all look dashing in our green jackets and denims.”

A rueful expression slides over Ajay’s face and he shakes his head a little. “No more green zippered jackets,” he says lightly. “I had to throw the thing out... it was kind of... ruined.”

Pagan can well imagine. Ajay steps a little closer, frowning deeply, and Pagan holds himself very still. This time, he is the one in the wrong, Ajay must be the one to make the next move - and Pagan will wait. He can be very patient when he sets his mind to it, and Ajay... well, Ajay is worth it.

When Ajay looks up at him, his expression going carefully blank, Pagan tilts his head towards him a little. “I...” he murmurs, “I thought you would have moved on by now. I had near convinced myself of it, that two years home would have rekindled old flames. That I was a fool for wanting to see for myself.”

Ajay drops his head down and knocks his forehead to Pagan’s, holding himself there for a few beats of silence. “The only old flame I have left is you,” he answers, and something in Pagan’s heart throbs to hear it. “And I’m so fucking angry right now, Pagan you have no idea.” His voice cracks, and his hands are shaking; what has Pagan done to his bright and beautiful boy. “Two _years_ ,” Ajay whispers. “You waited. And... so did I.”

Pagan lied about being patient.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says quietly, brushing their noses together. “Dearest boy.”

Ajay might have kissed him first, but he doesn't think anyone is counting.

This kiss is nothing like the one they’d shared at the airport two years ago, it’s gentler, slower, but Ajay feels exactly the same pressed against him. He wraps his arms around Pagan’s neck, dragging them closer to each other. Pagan crushes their mouths together, fitting his leg between Ajay’s feeling a hard curl desire rob him of rational thought.

In response, Ajay digs his fingers into the back of Pagan’s head, pressing exactly the way he likes it and Pagan can’t help the shiver that overtakes him. “Ajay,” he murmurs, pulling away. “I really want to take this at your pace but I’m having very real trouble going slowly.”

He really, very definitely lied about being patient.

Pagan’s haste doesn’t seem to bother Ajay any, considering he presses the arch of his body into the front of Pagan’s and kisses his chin. “It’s been two years,” he says gently. “Fuck going slowly.” While Pagan is still reeling from the words, Ajay takes that moment to slide his fingers under Pagan’s dress shirt and press his hands to Pagan’s stomach.

Ajay’s quick fingers scrape across Pagan’s skin, scratching over the small of his back as the boy rucks up his shirt for more access. He can’t help the groan that’s ripped from him, but he forces himself to take a breath and ask; “are you sure, dear boy?” even as he tries to steal another kiss.  
“Two years,” Ajay repeats, his voice hoarse with strain or desire - Pagan can’t tell. “Come to bed with me.”

Pagan doesn’t need another invitation, especially as Ajay traces his hands down the obvious line of Pagan’s erection through his slacks.

“As the King commands,” Pagan murmurs, and takes Ajay’s hand. He lets Ajay lead them to the bedroom, the room large and airy. The bed, in contrast to the cleanliness of the rest of the apartment is messy, well slept in.

Once in the room, Ajay seems to pause a bit, and Pagan happily crowds him, walking him the rest of the way towards the bed and then setting him down on the edge. He leans over Ajay to kiss him again, placing a knee next to Ajay’s hip for balance.

They spend a ridiculously long time kissing, each of them content to stay where they are. The pull of Pagan’s suit jacket hinders his movements and pulls too tight on one shoulder so he shrugs it off, leaving it in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. He’s somehow managed to straddle Ajay, his knees on either side of the boy’s hips, and he takes shameless advantage of that.

He takes his time, pressing kiss after luscious kiss to Ajay’s lips, crushing them together until breathing became second to each kiss. He can vaguely feel Ajay’s fingers at the tiny buttons on his shirt and he undoes them quickly enough that Pagan is impressed. At the first slide of skin on skin, Pagan drags his mouth from Ajay’s only to press it against his throat.

Ajay tilts his head to the side, even as he tugs off Pagan’s shirt, letting it join the rest of the suit on the floor. “This is feeling very one sided,” Pagan murmurs, trying to inject some offense into his tone, but he just wants to see.

With a grin, Ajay tugs his shirt off inelegantly, throwing it off to one side, leaving him gloriously bare. As soon as it hits the floor with a dull thump and Pagan sees the ruin of his shoulder, Ajay’s smile fades slowly away, watching Pagan’s reaction carefully. His eyes lose some of the lust and turn wary, and Pagan blinks a little in surprise.

He trails his fingers over the scars, keeping his touch gentle. “This is from the factory?” he asks. He doesn’t want to lose the moment, but he doesn’t want this one to pass them by either. It’s been a very long time since he’d bothered caring about someone’s emotional well being.

Ajay shivers under his touch. “Yes. Your man was... he was using explosive rounds.”

Pagan can’t remember if he knew that or not but the solider died too slow. There are no words, how can he apologize? How can he make it right when the time to fix things has long passed? He leans down and presses an open mouthed kiss against the topmost scar on Ajay’s shoulder. The boy freezes in surprise, so Pagan keeps kissing him until Ajay rolls his body into the touches, writhing and rolling his hips.

They’re both hard - obviously so now - and Pagan hasn’t been touched, hasn’t let himself be touched since Ajay arrived in Kyrat. (All one-hundred-fifteen times.) Pagan kisses down the pattern of scars, ending just above the swell of his side, and keeps kissing over Ajay’s jutting hipbone.

Ajay’s groan sounds agonized, and Pagan looks up, grinning. Ajay hooks his fingers in Pagan’s jaw, tugging him up with no little protest. He settles himself into the hollow of Ajay’s hips, sliding their erections together with some force.

The next groan is positively torn out of Ajay’s mouth, and the boy shocks the hell out of him by wrapping his legs around Pagan’s waist and flipping them over. Pagan grins, pleased beyond measure and Ajay kisses him in answer. He digs his fingers into the lush thickness of Ajay’s hair, slides his tongue into Ajay’s mouth and grinds upward against him.

“Fuck,” Pagan groans, pulling away to pant. “Darling, taking our pants off has just become top priority, otherwise, one or both of us will be making quite the mess.”

It takes a second for Ajay respond to that, pausing on top of Pagan and holding himself there. Pagan is completely alright with cheating - and slides his hands into the back of Ajay’s jeans, gripping and squeezing. Ajay’s skin is hot, almost burning and the touch seems to spur him into motion. He gets the jeans off his hips, pushing roughly until he can kick them off. “Now who’s one sided?” he asks, and drops his hands to Pagan’s cock.

Pagan growls out a groan, arching hard enough that his spin pops. “Cruel,” he says, he tries so hard to keep the whine from his voice.

Ajay grins, cheeky, and he slowly - oh, so fucking slowly - works at the buttons on Pagan’s slacks, sliding them down. Once the pants join the rest of the suit, Ajay lays across him, chest to chest, hip to hip and Ajay kisses him. This kiss is different, a gentle thing, trailing from his lips to his cheek in small butterfly light touches. “I missed you,” Ajay whispers, like a secret.

Such a secret can only be responded to in kind.

“I missed you too, dear boy,” Pagan murmurs, wrapping his arms around Ajay’s shoulders, too intimate to be a hug. Ajay kisses him again, before dragging his fingers from Pagan’s head to wrap around both their cocks.

Pagan jerks hard, groaning as Ajay grins at him. His hand is smooth, squeezing over them both in a grip almost too tight. He slides his thumb over them and Pagan grabs Ajay’s hand. He laces their fingers together, making a shared fist that they can grind into. Ajay bites his lip, and Pagan catches his gaze, too close to the edge for finesse. “Stay with me,” he murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Come for me, oh Ajay– I am so very close, darling, it’s been so long,” he rambles it out.

Ajay groans again, and digs his thumb into the underside of Pagan’s cock. He can’t help the shout, throwing his head back as he comes. Ajay follows him quickly after, spreading the mess between them. Ajay slumps off to one side, tightening his fingers on Pagan’s.  
A moment later Ajay crawls off the bed, wandering into the adjacent bathroom. When he returns Pagan watches with a slitted gaze as he cleans them both up. “Sorry, dear boy,” he says with a small smile. “But I’m afraid if you were expecting round two, I need at least a half an hour. Perils of getting old, I fear.”

But Ajay just kisses his shoulder. “Nah,” he drawls, poorly hiding a laugh. “Have a nap. I’m not going anywhere.”

So Pagan wraps himself around Ajay and drifts off to the inherent pleasure of holding the man he loves. Ajay will still be there when he wakes.

Everything is fine, now.

*

Everything is not fine.

“Oh shit ” someone decided _not_ Ajay shouts, continuing on with, “Ack Hannah, no wait ”

Ajay sighs heavily, and Pagan can’t help but chuckle. “Guys,” Ajay complains, only slightly muffled by the pillows, “we really need to have a conversation about boundaries.”

“Well,” Ajay’s friend says, “you didn’t answer your phone. We were worried.”

Another voice pipes up, female, and further away. “I stopped by the bookstore earlier and Emily said you’d gone home early with some guy.”

He supposes he should be glad that Ajay has such caring friends. There’s nothing for it, he’s going to have to meet his friends. “As you can see,” he drawls, injecting all the charm at his not inconsiderable disposal into his words, “all is well.”

He’s naked, which is decidedly less well, but he’s made stranger introductions.

Ajay’s friend doesn’t seem affected though, glaring narrowly at Pagan. “Yeah,” he grunts belligerently. “And you are?”

Groaning loudly and obonxiously, Ajay flings himself over, burying himself deeper in the pillows. “Third degree later when we’re not naked, please ” he bellows. “Go away, we’ll be out in a little while.”

Eventually, Ajay sits up, looking apologetic. “They seem nice,” Pagan says mildly.

Ajay only flops back onto the bed. “Apparently,” he grumbles dryly, “privacy is for other people.”

Pagan grins and pokes Ajay gently in the side. “I was king of Kyrat for over twenty years, darling. I understand completely.”

Ajay pulls himself away from the blankets and pillows, stopping only to kiss away Pagan’s smile. “Do you want something to wear? Or will you put your suit back on?”

Pagan reaches over and fishes out the pants from the end of the bed. They’re wrinkled nearly beyond repair and he pulls a face. “These won’t do for meeting the friends you call family, Ajay, _really_.”

In answer, Ajay throws him a pair of pants, soft and warm and a bright green that reminds Pagan of the zippered jacket. “Yeah well, I don’t have a perfectly tailored suit in your size.” Pagan is oddly touched that Ajay noticed how well tailored it was. “Or my own size,” Ajay is still saying. “So you’ll have to deal with casual.”

He pulls on the pants, and finds his shirt in the pile of ruined Armani. He does up the middle two buttons and turns to face Ajay, feeling horribly underdressed. “Am I presentable?” he asks.

“Um.” Ajay pulls him close, using the pants to guide him in. “Yeah,” he murmurs and kisses Pagan again.

He did not expect Ajay’s reaction. “I suppose,” he says softly, tilting his head up to meet Ajay’s eyes, “I do pass muster then, if that is your reaction.” He brushes his fingers over Ajay’s scarred shoulder, rubbing his thumb along a ridge.

A moment or two later Ajay retrieves a shirt, and slowly opens the door to the outer room. Pagan follows a step behind, here; Ajay is King. His friend scowls in their direction and he turns to face them. “You’re not naked,” he says harshly. “So are you going to tell me who the hell this guy is?”

The girl looks him over obviously and then says, “Oh Ajay Is this Sabal?”

Oh, _ouch_.

“No, Han,” Ajay says hurried, despite the laughter brimming in his tone. “This is most definitely not Sabal.”

He really needs to address that. “Darling,” he drawls, “if they suspected I’m Sabal, I think you have a lot of explaining to do about your relationship with him.” He gives both of Ajay’s friends a bright smile. “It’s very good to meet Ajay’s friends,” he says. “I, of course, am Pagan Min. I assume you’ve heard of me?”

There’s a beat of expecting silence before Ajay’s friend drops his phone with a loud bang. “You’re - What You’re Pagan Min? The King of Kyrat? The guy who– the guy who stabbed someone with a fork? ”

That seems like a strange thing to remember him for. And who the hell did he stab with a fork? He twists around to look at Ajay. “Who?” he asks, baffled.

Ajay bites his lip, fighting a smile. “Um,” he says. “Darpan.”

_Oh, right!_

“Him ” Pagan says, already dismissing it. “He was a terrorist.” He smiles again. “You can see that we’ve worked past that.”

Suddenly standing, Ajay’s friend - he still hasn’t introduced himself, rude - crowds Ajay into the bedroom. “Excuse us,” he says. “I need to have a word with Ajay here.”

Ajay, the traitor just leaves with him, abandoning Pagan in the living room with the blonde girl who thought he was Sabal.

_Rude._

The girl smiles though, a little shyly. “I’m Hannah,” she greets, standing to offer him her hand. “The loudmouth over there is my boyfriend, Dylan. He and Ajay have known each other for a long time. I’d apologize but...” she shrugs a little.

“No, no,” Pagan says with only a little force. “I understand. For all you two know, I could be some crazed madman.”

Her lips turn up in a mischievous smile. “Oh yes, a crazy madman with hickeys on his neck.”

Pagan’s hand flies to his throat, feeling the tender marks there. His expression goes very dark, and Hannah has the gall to laugh at him. He doesn’t have a chance to respond - even if it’s only to curse Ajay - when Dylan storms out of the bedroom, Ajay hot on his heels.

Dylan walks right up to Pagan, glaring at him. “I'm going to ask you some questions,” he bullies, not gently. “You're going to answer yes or no to them.”

Pagan blinks, somewhat surprised. He’s never gotten the shovel talk before. He grins, inclining his head. “Alright, I'll humor you. Ask your questions.”

“Are you in love with Ajay?”

Pagan’s smile dies, his amusement replaced with something far more uncertain. He’d been asked the question many times before, by Yuma, by the Tarun Matara, even by Naveen. He’d always answered yes, when he couldn’t dodge it. But, he’s never said it to Ajay before, and he’d... well, he’d hoped it would have been in a situation as combative as this.

The pause is too long though and Ajay interjects, saying quickly, “you don't have to answer that – Dylan, he doesn't have to answer that ”

There’s nothing for it. Down to the wire and Pagan can only tell the truth. So he holds up one hand, asking for silence. “Dylan, was it?” Pagan asks, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ajay fidget unhappily. “It's been two years since I last saw Ajay,” he says mildly. “I left him alone in an airport and walked away from him which was the hardest thing I have ever done. I waited, visions of his finding a happy family a constant torment, for two years. I thought of him every day, in truth I thought of little else. So if you truly require an answer to your question: yes. I am.”

Ajay jerks, moving out of his line of sight. But he whispers, “Pagan,” though Pagan doesn’t respond. He has more to say.

Instead, Pagan crosses his arms over his chest, and levels Dylan with a cold glare. “I have loved him since he called me and asked me for my opinion on the state of the country, based his actions off my words instead of Sabal's, and nearly died because of the men my commanders deployed. I spent two agonizing weeks thinking he was dead.” Pagan turns his head, trying to catch Ajay’s gaze. “Love is too weak a word for how I feel for him, boy.”

“Uh,” Dylan coughs, “Are you going to leave him again?”

Ajay flinches. Hard. “Really, you're going to keep asking more questio-- fine. Ignore me.”

Pagan tenses but forges on. “I have foreign interests to look to,” he answers evenly. “I have primarily been a businessman, you know. I'm not an American citizen, so yes, one day I will have to leave.”

“Then why come back at all?” Dylan demands, as though he's the one who'll have to deal with the heartbreak of waking up one morning and realizing his travel visa will expire. Like the questions aren’t dragging emotions and feelings better left buried in Pagan’s cold and unkind heart.

“Because,” Pagan says with a lightness he doesn’t feel. “On the day that it happens, I hope to convince Ajay _to come with me_.”

Dylan turns to Ajay, his expression visibly apologetic, but Ajay doesn’t bother to wait for anyone. He turns and leaves the room, heading into the kitchen where Pagan loses sight of him.

“Oops,” Dylan whispers.

“Oh good show that,” Pagan grumbles acidly. “I’ve not been back five hours and we’re already on the outs. Fantastic job, really. Brilliant tactical advance.” He steps into Dylan’s space, prodding him in the chest. “I love that boy, and I will not have anyone question it. He deserves more than a man like me can give him but damn it all, I’ll give him everything. So get out, let him be happy for fucking once.”

He takes the not so gentle prods well, swaying a little with every poke. “If you hurt him,” he says quickly, “they’ll never find your body.”

“If I hurt him,” Pagan snaps, “he’ll beat you to it.”

That seems to placate the two meddlesome friends, at least, because Hannah tugs on Dylan’s arm. “Come on,” she urges quietly. “Let’s give them some space, alright?”

Pagan leaves them on the couch, turning to see where Ajay’s gotten off to. He finds the boy in the kitchen, leaning over the marble counter top, head bowed.

“Things were simpler, back in Kyrat,” Pagan says gently from where he stands in the doorway. “They were worse, certainly, but simple. You had a part to play and so did I, and much of those parts were spent as enemies.”

Ajay shakes his head, but doesn't move. “You took care of me as a child, when my mother couldn't. You were never my enemy.” He’s quoting something Pagan said in one of the time lines, though he can’t quite recall which one.

“I did say that once, didn't I?” Pagan muses, and his shadow falls across the counter top as he moves closer. “We could never develop this, back then. You had Sabal, and I had – memories.” He means Ishwari, but he also means that the last twenty five years have been far than easy on him. “But by the end of all that, we had the possibility. That is why I am here now, dearest. To find out where that possibility leads.”

Slowly, Ajay turns around, his eyes jumping from Pagan to where his friends wait on the couch. Ajay scratches the back of his head, grimacing a little. “Yes,” he says. “I want that too. I don't know what I'll tell Sabal, if I tell Sabal. But I want that too.” He looks away, at the floor, eyes stalling on Pagan's bare feet. “And when you have to go back to... wherever. I'll go with you.”

Pagan's feet move closer, a quick two step that brings him within touching distance. “For how long?” Pagan asks quietly, reaching out with two fingers and touching Ajay's chin to raise his head.

Mind made up, Ajay softens his expression in a smile. “However long you'll keep me for.”

Eyes lighting up, Pagan leans in slowly and kisses Ajay. There's love in the kiss, and tenderness, and longing, and Ajay gives back as good as he gets. He relaxes against Pagan and wraps his arms loosely around the other man's waist. “That's a relief,” Pagan murmurs. “I was entertaining nightmares of you sending me on my way without so much as a kiss goodbye.”

Ajay smiles, tucking his head against the side of Pagan's neck. “Nah,” he says lightly. “It'll be an adventure.” He breaks away from the embrace, and leads Pagan back into the living room. Dylan's face is contrite but Ajay scowls at him. “Hannah, hit him for me.”

Obligingly, she does, socking him in the arm closest to her without hesitation. “What was that for?” he whines, rubbing his arm.

“For being a dick,” Ajay says pointedly. “Apologize.”

Pagan gives half a thought for just waving it off, but Ajay’s scowl convinces him otherwise. He crosses his arms over his chest, waiting. Dylan stares between them for a second before he deflates. “Sorry, Mr. Min. I was just trying to look out for Ajay.”

“Oh, _blech_.” He’s never felt older than that name makes him. “Call me Pagan, I'm not yet old enough to be Mr. Min, thank you very much.” Ajay grins at Pagan's expression of disgust.

Ajay’s friends spend some little time talking to him about mundane things - clearly an effort to get along with him. He’s really more than ready to go back to bed, curl up with Ajay and perhaps revisit their earlier play. Halfway through a light conversation with Hannah about Kyrat and China, Ajay slips away, trailing a finger across Pagan’s shoulders as he goes back into the kitchen.

Pagan turns to Hannah and with a winning smile says, “my dear girl, I fear that Ajay and I still have many things to discuss. Might we continue this at a later date?”

She smiles and nods, tugging on Dylan’s shift. “Of course. Come on, Dyl. We can see Ajay tomorrow. We’ll meet at the Thistle, after Ajay gets out of work. At nine. You have to meet the others.”

“I’ll relay the message,” he says, and walks them out if only to lock the door behind them. He leans his shoulder against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching Ajay. “Your friends left,” he says, when Ajay turns back around. “They offer congratulations, and demands that I meet the others, which frankly, is rather terrifying.”

Laughing, Ajay shakes his head. “You survived years worth of terrorism. I think you can survive my friends.” He leans in and kisses Pagan softly. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“God, _yes_.” Pagan is stripping off his shirt before Ajay can laugh at his enthusiasm, standing in the middle of the room without a care for the windows. “This time though, do lock the door.”

As they climb into Ajay's mussed and giant bed, clothing litering the floor, and when Ajay wraps himself around Pagan, the world settles and all is right again. The only thing that matters, despite all their opposition is that Pagan loves him.

Curled up in Pagan's arms, Ajay leans in and kisses the older man's temple. “I love you,” he murmurs into his hair.

And Ajay loves him too.

With a noise that's practically a purr, Pagan stretches and tightens his grip. “I love you too, Ajay,” he murmurs.

And nothing else matters.

Kissing the cap of Ajay’s mussed hair, Pagan begins to plan the rest of his life, letting go of the burdens in his heart.  
  
_Good bye, Ishwari_.

*  
Pagan is shamefully unused to waking up in someone’s arms, but he has to admit to himself that it’s the best night of sleep he’s gotten in a good long while. He opens his eyes to see Ajay draped all over him - apparently the boy turns into an octopus while he sleeps.

Despite the clingy nature of Ajay’s sleep pattern, Pagan finds him awake, leaning his chin on Pagan’s chest and scrolling through his phone with his free hand. “Anything interesting?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Ajay’s head.

“Emily gave me the day off, so all I’ve got is my Speak Up group at one, then meeting Bill and May at Thistle with the others tonight.”

Speak Up group? Pagan wonders, and asks as much. “You’ve not mentioned this group,” he says after a moment or two, watching Ajay’s dexterous fingers dance over the touch screen of his phone. “What is it for?”

“Uh.” Ajay lets the phone fall down between Pagan’s body and the mattress as he gives his full attention. “It’s... uh. Well. Don’t freak out.”

That certainly doesn’t bode well, and Pagan feels a frisson of nervousness spear through him. “I won’t freak out,” he repeats patiently.

“It’s for people with PTSD, specifically, uh. Specifically people who got it from being in a war zone.” Pagan pauses for a second, letting that sink in - PTSD is for life, Ajay had said.

He can only imagine how much trauma Ajay sustained living his own death one-hundred-fifteen times, and he couldn’t even speak up about that, only the mundane things would apply. Pagan licks his lips, glancing down at the top of Ajay’s head. “Would you like me to go with you?” he asks gently.

Ajay’s head tilts up so fast that he nearly takes Pagan’s nose off with his forehead. “You really want to?”

Pagan tilts his mouth up in a smile, trailing his fingers down Ajay’s bare back. “We walk this path together, do we not?” Ajay nods, and his returning smile is a broken anxious little thing that Pagan kisses into something softer and genuine. “I will happily go with you.”

“It won’t be fun,” Ajay warns against his mouth. “I don’t usually talk, but the others will and they have a lot of... damage too.”

Carding his free hand through Ajay’s hair, Pagan’s smile widens. “Pain is not a stranger to me, my boy. It won’t scare me away.”

Leaning forward to kiss him again, Ajay just shakes his head. “We should get up then. Find some food and then start walking.”

Pagan snorts, watching Ajay get out of bed and tilting slightly to get a better look. “I could still call the car.”

“I like to walk,” Ajay said. “Do we need to go to your hotel, so you can get your things?”

There’s an awkward pause as Pagan tries to think of how to phrase it. Ajay’s stopped getting dressed in order to turn and look back at him, eyebrows raised in question - and maybe a little concern. “Well,” Pagan says slowly, “it could be that I was in such a rush to come find you that I didn’t exactly check into a hotel?”

Ajay blinks at him before a smile spreads over his face. “So... that means all your things?”

“Are still with Naveen in the car?” Pagan mutters, already reaching for his mobile. He dials Naveen’s number as Ajay leans his head on his forearms against the dresser, laughing helplessly.

“Morning, Boss,” Naveen says cheerfully on the other end of the line. “I take it you had a good night?”

“Where are you?” Pagan grouses, sitting up the rest of the way in the bed to lean against the wall.

Naveen snorts. “You mean after you left me sitting in the car? Went and got a hotel. Your things are here if you want to come get them.”

“Why did I hire you again?” Pagan asks, making a face at Ajay who still hasn’t stopped laughing. “Text me the address, we’ll be there soon.” He hangs up, knowing that Naveen is making a sour face. Despite his mobile’s helpful touch screen, Naveen always takes forever to send text messages.

Once the message comes through, Ajay leans over to glance at it. “That’s not that far. Probably a ten minute walk.” He hands over a stack of clothes, kissing Pagan lightly before heading into the bathroom. “Those should fit you.”

Pagan shakes out the articles, finding a white button down and a pair of denims. “You just want to see me in your clothes,” he calls back.

Ajay sticks his head through the door and grins. “... And?”

He can’t really argue with that now, can he?

He dresses in Ajay’s denims and shirt, and while the pants fit well enough (though he no longer needs his belt, sadly) the shirt is just a bit short in the arms, prompting him to roll the sleeves up. As he stands in front of the mirror on the wall, making the sleeves even and running his fingers through his sleep tumbled hair, Ajay ambles back out of the bathroom. The boy moves right over to him, hooking his chin on Pagan’s shoulder. It renders him slightly hunched, but he wraps his arms around Pagan’s waist anyway.

Finding out that Ajay is an affectionate partner has been a pleasure and a delight. Pagan tilts his head sideways, getting the kiss he was fishing for before he breaks away from Ajay. “So,” he says running the water to tame his hair, “what should I expect from this group of yours?”

Ajay’s shrug is almost a verbal thing. “People talk. My therapist will be there, she usually leads the group but sometimes one of the others will.”

It sounds a lot like the narcotics anonymous Ishwari had made him go through. “Do you ever lead the group?”

“No.” The ‘are you insane, do you know me at all’ goes unspoken but largely heard all the same. “Dr. Foster knows better. I’ve only even recently started talking in the group myself.”

His hair back under control, Pagan strolls out of the bathroom to shoot Ajay a smile. “Do people often bring guests?”

“Eh.” Ajay shrugs, tugging on his sneakers. “Sometimes. Dr. Foster encourages us to bring people we think can be helped by the group but a lot of times people will bring family members for moral support.”

“And who am I to be, hm?” Pagan asks, “a long lost member of your family, who recently came back to the country?”

Ajay wrinkles his nose. “I’d rather not. Can’t you just be yourself?”

It’s a nice thought, but Pagan hasn’t been himself in over twenty five years. “I doubt that would go over very well, darling. I wasn’t exactly unknown even in a backwater country like Kyrat.”

“Well, what do you go by now?” Ajay asks curiously.

Pagan grins, a little satisfied. “Huan Fan,” he says. “A not particularly common name for a Chinese-British business man but memorable. It means clever and lethal.”

Ajay laughs. “And so modest too.”

“Yes well,” Pagan drawls, slipping on his shoes and turning to face Ajay where he sits on the bed. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

Still laughing, Ajay collects his keys and takes Pagan’s hand. “To the hotel first, Ulla. Then to my group.”

They walk out together, hand in hand - a luxury that Pagan has never had before. When he was truly with Ishwari, when she had whispered her love into his shoulder and forsaken her husband, they had to hide everything, every little detail. She was a refugee seeking asylum from the Golden Path, nothing more and nothing less. They dined separately from others in the palace, they rarely slept in the same bed.

He’d loved Ishwari, of course. She had reached into his chest and changed everything - his out look, his ideals, even his very soul. But Ajay, from the little boy who smiled with gap toothed joy at Lakshmana to the young man who holds his hands now, he had shown him so much _more_.

“You seem to be thinking deep thoughts,” Ajay comments gently, knocking their shoulders together.

“Mm,” Pagan murmurs meditatively. “Just thinking about the future.”

Ajay’s fingers tighten on his, just ever so slightly. “Oh? That could be dangerous.”

But the boy has nothing to fear from him, not any more. “Nothing bad, I assure you.” The look Ajay gives him is doubtful and Pagan smiles. “I would drown the world in blood to keep you safe, Ajay, believe that if nothing else.”

“Uh.” Ajay chokes out a surprised laugh. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Pagan. I’ll be just fine.”

“Anything can happen, my boy,” Pagan says quietly, and tightens his grip on Ajay’s hand. Ishwari had promised him the same once, before chasing Mohan across the North and running away without even a word of good bye.

Pagan already knows he won’t survive if Ajay does the same thing. It’s a much bigger world now, and Ajay can survive better than most. Pagan must be the very best partner, boyfriend, and lover he can be - Ajay must not leave him.

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking about,” Ajay says quietly from his side. “But it looks bad.”

“I fear I’ve become a fatalist in my old age, darling,” Pagan murmurs. “Don’t mind me.”

Ajay snickers quietly. “You’re hardly old enough to pull that card on me, Pagan. We’ve been standing in front of the hotel doors for five minutes though and we’re starting to get weird looks.”

Pagan refocuses, and glances at the doors. “So we are. Wool-gathering is not for gentle strolls with a paramour, I can tell you that. Come, Naveen will be pleased to see you.”

They go up to the top floor - “presidential suite, really Pagan?”- and meet Naveen in the door. The Commander looks good, well rested, and infinitely amused.

“Ajay Ghale,” the man says with fondess. “You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

“You too, Naveen,” the boy greets, holding out a hand to shake. “Though, the last time you saw me I was malnourished, faintly desperate and suffering from several gunshot wounds.” He says it so nonchalantly that Pagan whips around to stare at him. “What?” Ajay asks blithely. “Like you didn’t know?”

“Malnourished?” Pagan repeats.

Ajay blinks at him. “You knew Yuma had burned the stock piled food, right? There was little go around, Sabal did his best to keep us all fed, but...” He shrugs again, completely at ease. “I’m fine now, don’t fuss. I can see you fussing.”

Pagan makes a face at him, consciously making himself turn towards his things. “Tell me you’ll at least allow me to take a car to the Speak Up group so we don’t need to take my baggage with us everywhere.”

“No,” Ajay says seriously. Pagan stares at him, then transfers his gaze to the six different luggage bags of varying sizes. He looks back at Ajay who laughs - the uncharitable twat. “Yes, we can take your car, jeez.”

Pagan leaves Ajay to chat with Naveen, gathering his things together and putting them on the trolley cart to bring downstairs. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the old Commander give Ajay something to drink, though the boy only sips at it. They talk of Kyrat, from what Pagan can hear, and Naveen tells Ajay of the body doubles.

And apparently of Etain, as the Commander does a strange impersonation of the Irish spitfire. Hair flick, and all. It makes Ajay laugh, and Pagan had seen him do that precious few times in Kyrat, so seeing him these two days has given him quite the embarrassment of riches.

It takes them no time at all to pack up the car, though Naveen elects to stay at the hotel. “Sorry boss, but uh, so much romance and gooey eyes is bad for my indigestion.”

The driver takes them ten minutes in another direction to get to the Veteran’s Center where Ajay has his Speak Up group, and he fidgets for most of the car ride. “Ajay?” Pagan asks, reaching out for his hand. “What is the matter?”

Ajay smiles a little, shaking his head but linking his fingers with Pagan’s. “I um, I know I talked up how good the group is, but I really actually kind of hate going. I don’t know, it just reminds me of school and how I would freeze up all the time. I couldn’t do it, not in any of my classes.”

“You don’t have to speak if you don’t wish to,” Pagan says. “And I will be quiet as a mouse.”

“God forbid,” Ajay jokes quietly. “No, just be yourself. If anyone asks, which they probably won’t, you’ll figure something out.”

“Well of course I will,” Pagan says archly. “I believe someone in this car said I had enough flair and dramatics for six people.”

Ajay smirks, looking amused. “I did, you’re right.”

Vindicated and so pleased to see Ajay smiling again, Pagan settles back in his seat for the rest of the ride. Ajay has nothing to be nervous about.  
*

On the very rare occasion, Pagan has been known to be wrong.

Ajay did in fact have something to worry about.

As soon as he walks into the room with Pagan at his side - and by the hand - everyone zeroes in on them. Pagan once lived entirely in the limelight, he’s used to the stares his presence brings. Ajay is, obviously enough, suddenly very nervous. He pauses in the door way, taking in all the eyes on him before his shoulders hunch and he drops Pagan’s hand in order to take a seat.

A woman intercepts him, her hair up in a no nonsense plait, small wire framed glasses on her nose and piercing blue eyes. “Ajay,” she says, stopping him before he can duck around her. “This is something of a surprise.”

He shrugs, still tense. “You said it was good to bring people.”

To her credit, she seems to realize how uncomfortable Ajay is, and she pats him on the arm gently. “I did, and I meant it. It’s just good to see you smiling, Ajay.”

The comment seems to surprise him because he loosens up to blink at her in shock. “I smile,” he protests.

The woman shakes her head, smiling herself. “You don’t really. Are you going to introduce me to your beau?”

And Ajay blushes. “Um, Doc Foster, this is...” He trails off for a beat before he smiles again. “This is Pagan Min.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she turns to face him frankly. “Pagan Min, really?”

Pagan had actually been expecting Ajay to introduce him as Huan Fan but he can roll with this. He steps forward and offers the therapist his hand. “Indeed, it’s very good to meet you, Doctor. Ajay has spoken very highly of you.”

Her surprised smile turns dry around the edges. “I doubt that,” she says, shooting Ajay a wider smile. “He probably told you I keep making him talk when he doesn’t want to.”

“Not in so many words,” Pagan replies as Ajay scoffs. “He also said you encourage your patients to bring others to your meeting. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Foster shook her head. “Not at all. You’re quite welcome.” She smiles over at Ajay. “It’s good to see you happy, Ajay. If you want, feel free to talk about recovery and romance.” She winks at his horrified expression and moves away, heading to a seat of her own.

The room is large, with many windows to let the sunlight in, and has twenty or so chairs in a circle of disparate diameter. People mill around speaking to each other before taking their seats, in a haphazard mash of bodies. Pagan slips into a seat next to Ajay, and edges his chair closer out of habit.

He tunes out most of the other people, watching Ajay’s reactions instead. For his part, Ajay gives his full attention to whoever is speaking, but rarely repeats the generic responses. Periodically, someone will look over to him as though expecting him to speak – usually his doctor, Foster – but Ajay just shakes his head.

At least until Dr. Foster stands up and gains everyone attention. “We have a special guest here today,” she announces with a twinkling grin. At his side, Ajay goes bone white and his fingers tighten painfully on Pagan's. “Ajay, why don't you introduce him to us.”

Slowly, Ajay stands up. He clears his throat, and gestures vaguely in Pagan's direction. “This is Pagan,” he says shortly. “He's my boyfriend.”

Again, Ajay has managed to completely throw him off his game. He'd been expecting his fake name, expecting a generic comment about friendship and so on, but not a label. Not... _that_ label anyway. He stands, at Ajay's side, and tugs on his hand until the boy turns and looks at him.

He smiles, trying to gentle his expression. Slowly, Ajay smiles back, and his stances loosens incredibly. “It's lovely to meet you all,” Pagan says with his TV personality smile.

Relieved, Ajay sinks back into his seat, pulling Pagan with him by proxy. Dr. Foster grins at them. “Do you have anything to contribute to the discussion, Pagan?” she asks him, and the damnable woman has to know that he hasn't really been paying attention.

Ajay leans in and murmurs, “coping skills,” in his ear like that's supposed to help him.

He leans in too and says, not nearly as quiet as he probably should have been, “what the bloody hell is a coping skill?”

Looking desperately like he wants to run a hand over his face, Ajay shakes his head with a small smile. “A coping skill is what you use to help deal with things when they're hard.”

“What, like drugs?” he asks blankly. If using drugs is a coping skill, he's been doing admirably well for many, many, many years.

Ajay winces. “No, Pagan, not like drugs ” There are a few stifled chuckles to that, which oddly pleases him.

Dr. Foster interrupts their moment though and says, “Actually Pagan brings up a good point. There are healthy coping skills and unhealthy coping skills and it's important to find and identify which ones work for you and which ones you should avoid. Using drugs and alcohol may seem like the easiest skill to use when you're struggling, but that can lead to a dependence that will take just as long to break away from as the PTSD. Pagan, do you have any healthy coping skills that you use?”

He blinks. _Does_ he have any? He's never thought about it before. “Well,” he says slowly. “I like to cook.”

Dr. Foster looks delighted that he's contributed, and she nods. “Cooking can be very soothing and it's good for people who enjoy patterns and repetitive motions. Also, focusing on the taste of things can help take away from a flashback.” She tilted her head curiously. “Do you have any others you would like to share?”

His lips curl up in a dry smile. “I don't suppose Ajay counts?”

But instead of telling him no, Dr. Foster actually smiles back. “Actually, though I'm sure you didn't mean it this way, yes, having Ajay be there for you would help immensely, just as I'm sure you help him in the same way.”

Pagan glances over at Ajay whose ears have flushed pink. “You know, I think you might be on to something,” he tells the doctor, just to see the boy flush harder.

To be honest, Pagan's never perscribed to the head shrinking business. It's never done a thing for him – especially not the self help crap that Paul used to leave lying around the Palace during his visits. But, if agreeing with the woman will help Ajay, well – it's hardly the largest or most daring lie he's ever told.

When Ajay looks at him like that, like every question that has ever been asked has been answered, or that the sun and moon set on Pagan's face, Pagan can do no wrong. Everything is perfect.

*

The knock comes at ten in the morning on Friday, the first of July.

Ajay tips his phone over and checks to see if he's missed any calls or texts but finds nothing. The knock comes again, a little less sure of itself and Ajay clamors off the couch, running his fingers through Pagan's hair on his way towards the door.

Pagan can hear the door squeak when it opens, but he's too involved in his level of Angry Birds to pay much attention to who it is. At least until there's a loud clatter and Ajay exclaims: “holy _fuck!_ ”

Alarmed, Pagan looks over the back of the couch and focuses his eyes on Ajay's back. The boy is blocking the door, one hand on the jamb the other on the handle as he stares at the intruder. He's just far enough away that he can't quite make out the details anymore.

He's just about to call over, when a familiar voice drawls, “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you weren't happy to see me, brother.”

_Balls._

After another heart stopping pause, Ajay just laughs and even Pagan can hear the overwhelming relief in his voice. “Of course I'm happy to see you, Sabal ” There's a thunk and a few dull thwacks, as though Sabal dropped something and then they embraced. “I'm just a little surprised.”

The sound of them moving further into the apartment is full of clatters and the door closing. “Yes, well, the representative from the company Amita's dealing with has arrived last night and Amita fairly ordered me out of the country so I wouldn't 'fuck it up', as she so delicately put it.”

Pagan checks his phone, and yes, it's now the first of July. Etain should be in Kyrat and he really needs to learn to check his email more often. “You're always welcome when Amita doesn't want you to fuck up the country,” Ajay says, sounding amused. “There's just one thing you should know...”

If that doesn't sound like a cue, Pagan doesn't know what else does.

He stands, turning in one fluid motion with a winsome smile says, “Sabal How lovely to see you ” He does manage to keep the snide tone from the statement, but it's a near thing.

Sabal's things tumble from his hands to crash to the floor in a flurry of fabric. “Pagan Min?” he shouts loudly. He goes for a knife that clearly isn't at his side and Ajay catches his arm in alarm. “Ajay?” he asks, weakly, his face slack.

Ajay visibly tightens his fingers on Sabal's wrist. “You knew we were close,” he says quietly. “Sabal, listen to me. _Listen_. He knew, about the time loops. The rotations that I was living. He tried to save me, so many times and he couldn't. I know you don't approve, I know that won't change but I don't care. Okay? I don't.”

There's another long pause as Sabal's eyes search his face, looking for Pagan doesn't know what. The whole time, Ajay holds Sabal's wrist, fingers biting into skin. Finally, Sabal relaxes, turning to Ajay and staying well within Ajay's range of motion. “You are correct, brother,” he says. “I do not approve. And I will not.”

Ajay's face shatters, giving truth to the lie that he will not care about Sabal's approval. He lets go of Sabal's arm as though he has been burned, and he takes a very large step away from the other man. “I see,” he says, and the speed that he covers his hurt is astounding. “The guest room is always open to you.”

Sabal blinks, stooping down to pick up his fallen duffle bag. “You will not send me away?” he asks, curiously.

“No,” Ajay grunts, short and offended. “You staying here, you being my friend, my brother, is not contingent upon your approval of my romantic choices. Guest room is this way.”

They walk past where Pagan stands, and for a brief heart stopping moment, Pagan has a clear shot at Sabal's unarmored back before they disappear around the corner. The guest room door – slightly squeaky – opens and shuts and on socked feet Pagan creeps down the hall to listen at the door.

For a few seconds there's silence broken only by the sound of drawers opening and closing. Then, with a tightness that's obvious to Pagan even through the door, Ajay says, “this room doesn't have an adjacent bathroom, so you'll have to use the one in the hall between the kitchen and the living room.”

“Which one is Pagan using?” Sabal asks. His voice is carefully blank, it gives away nothing.

Ajay closes a drawer with somewhat more force than necessary. “The bathroom in mine,” he answers.

“Is he sleeping in there?” Sabal asks immediately after.

The next door is closed with a lot more force. “That's a stupid question,” Ajay bites out. “You already know the answer. It's yes Yes, he's fucking sleeping in my room. Yes, we're fucking sleeping together.”

There's another awkward pause. “How long has this been going on?” Sabal asks quietly, and there's less vitriol in his tone.

“A week or so,” Ajay answers, but the hostility isn't gone from him.

Sabal clears his throat. “The real reason Amita sent me from Kyrat and to your side wasn't to keep me from her poppy distribution.” Pagan raises an eyebrow and leans his shoulder on the wall to tilt his head closer. “She told me to come here so we could speak of our feelings.”

“Uh.” Ajay startles, and his voice gets closer to the door, prompting Pagan to tense.

“Amita said... well. She said that she thought you were in love with me.”

There is dead silence in the room after his declaration. Completely, utterly silent, even Pagan isn't breathing. “Amita is a few rotations too late for that,” he says quietly.

It's Sabal's turn to startle badly. “What? I did not think she was serious ”

Through the door, Pagan can hear the expressive shrug Ajay gives him. “Don't worry, I'm not in love with you.” There's a beat of silence and then he says, grudgingly, “anymore.” The noise Sabal makes more closely resembles a squeak than anything made by man. “But, as it turns out,” Ajay says, lightly, deceptively, “it's really hard to stay in love with someone when they shoot you in the back.”

The blow strikes Sabal as it's meant, and he makes another non-verbal squeak that sounds punched out of him. “What?” he breathes.

“Don't worry though,” Ajay continues, as ruthless as a tiger, “that was something like twenty six years ago, so I've long forgiven you for it.”

“Brother,” Sabal says. “Brother, I swear I did not know.”

Ajay snorts. “Of course you didn't. I haven't felt that way since the first time I ran Kalinag's gauntlet. So, don't worry, Amita is pretty off the mark here. But, you're the closest thing I've had to a brother, so yeah, your support would mean a lot. I just never expected to get it.”

Pagan actually winces on Sabal's behalf.

“He's Pagan Min, brother,” Sabal says. “You did not know what he did, you've not known him as long as I have ”

Ajay's laugh is dry. “Actually,” he says slowly, “I think I have. I lived Kyrat for twenty six years, Sabal. When I celebrate my birthday next, do I celebrate twenty-nine, or forty-seven?”

“You cannot expect me to believe that he has changed,” Sabal says desperately.

“Of course I don't,” Ajay says, with a broken laugh. “I expect you to trust my judgement.”

Oh, _ouch_. That one must sting.

There's a dull thunk, and Ajay's breath whooshes out of him as though he's been surprised. “I trust you completely, brother,” Sabal says, slightly muffled. “It's Min that I do not trust.”

“Keep trusting in me, Sabal,” Ajay says, almost too quiet for him to hear.

Pagan slips away then, his heart perhaps not all the way assuaged, but at least without the crack of worry. It doesn't take long for Ajay to rejoin him, settling carefully into the space between his thigh and the couch. The rest of the worry plaguing evaporates almost entirely when Ajay curls into him, tucking his feet up into the arm of the couch and slumping over Pagan's lap. “So,” he says lightly. “How much did you hear?”

“I left after he hugged you,” Pagan says lightly. “How'd you know I was listening?” Ajay's narrow look is very eloquent. “Fair enough,” he says, chuckling. “Can I help it if I'm concerned for you, dear boy?”

Ajay snorts, leaning his forehead on Pagan's shoulder. “No, I suppose not.” He sighs, air feathering over Pagan's neck. “Can I count on you not to start any fights?” he asks.

“I'll be the perfect gentleman,” Pagan promises. “If he is.”

Groaning loudly and obnoxiously, Ajay slumps further into Pagan, his sudden weight sending him careening to one side. “He's pretty much my brother,” Ajay points out, muffled still. “I've never had one of those before. Try not to kill him.”

With a sigh only half joking, Pagan says, “I've not killed anyone since leaving Kyrat, thank you. I'm hardly about to break my streak now.”

“Well,” Ajay grumbles. “That will have to do. If you can't be nice, just... be civil.”

Pagan kisses the top of his head. “Anything for you,” he says quietly, and is startled to discover that he means it.

Ajay’s bright smile is worth all the awkwardness in the world. It’s perhaps not worth Sabal, but it’s a good start all the same.

“I texted May,” Ajay says a moment later. “She suggested we all go out to dinner, since the last time she met you went so splendidly.”

Laughing lightly, Pagan rolls his eyes. “Your dear friend May was a joy and a treasure to behold. I would gladly go to dinner with them.”

Though to be honest, he really just wants to see Sabal run afoul of the head strong girl.

*

Sabal looks very uncomfortable where he sits in the booth at Ajay’s pub of choice. They have claimed the largest table far in the back, tucked into the corner with a long booth at a right angle. Pagan sits in the middle with Ajay on his left, with Sabal on Ajay’s other side. The rest of Ajay’s friends make up the right hand side of the booth, and they are ruthless in their questions.

Then again, he’d already gone through this once with Dylan, he’s more or less inured to their contrary nature. “So,” May says with a sly smile, leaning around Bill to look at Sabal. “You’re Ajay’s brother.”

The flash of warmth in Sabal’s eyes is hard to miss and jealousy prickles along Pagan’s spine. “Yes,” Sabal answers. “In all but blood, at least.”

Both Hannah and May make strange squealing ‘aw’ sounds, and Ajay rolls his eyes heavily. “So if you’re from Kyrat,” Dylan says over the girls, “you must have known Pagan too.”

All three of them - Ajay, Pagan and Sabal - tense. “Of a sort,” Sabal says slowly, not looking at him. “I did not know him well.”

That’s the understatement of the century. “I’m afraid we lived in very different areas,” Pagan supplies diplomatically. “I lived in the Northern part of the country while Sabal was living in the South.”

Dylan snorts and opens his mouth to say something except Ajay leans across Pagan and shoves a roll into his friends mouth. “Enough,” he says, while he’s smiling, it doesn’t quite take away the sting in his tone, “No more pointed questions, we’ve had enough of that. Drink your beer.”

Hannah takes over from there - Pagan has grown to admire the girl’s tenacity at least - and she turns in her seat to face Sabal. “Will you tell me about your country? I’m a religious studies major in college and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Ajay’s picked up a lot of habits from your culture.”

Sabal gives Ajay a narrow look, and surprisingly, the boy blushes. “Just a few things,” he says, defensively.

Pagan’s seen the small shrine to Lakshmana and Ishwari, so he’s not terribly surprised. “I can answer your questions,” Sabal says with a hint of warmth. “I take Kyrat’s religion very seriously.”

He can’t quite muffle his snort but he refuses to feel bad about it considering that Ajay echoes his snort a half second behind him. Sabal scowls at them both. “Don’t tease,” Hannah scolds, and Ajay grins at her.

“Who me?” he asks, but fails to sound innocent. “I would never.”

“You would,” Sabal cuts in and Ajay’s friends chuckle. “You would _frequently_ , which is worse, brother.”

Ajay scoffs, shoving at Sabal with his shoulder. “Traitor.”

There’s more chatter that Pagan more or less tunes out, he spends the time watching Sabal and Ajay’s interactions. Ajay seems happier, now that Sabal is here, a little looser. It’s not until Bill asks, a little drunkenly, “so how did you two meet?” to Sabal and Ajay that Pagan drags his attention back to the table.

“Uh,” Sabal says, busying himself with his glass. “Well.”

“Fleeing me,” Pagan answers for him, trying to inject a note of humor into his tone. “I’d needed desperately to speak to Ajay, you see. Sabal came to get him.”

There’s awe in Ajay’s gaze. He’d not expected Pagan to disclose exactly how they’d met or his position in Kyrat, that much is clear. “Yes,” Sabal agrees, his eyes on Pagan. “We left Pagan’s compound but got separated.”

“I took Sabal’s advice and met back up with him though,” Ajay says easily. “I mean, I kept getting shot at and it turns out when a Royal Army solider tells you that they mean no harm they actually mean they’re going to try to kill me. But I met back up with Sabal for a good long while.”

“What!” Pagan spins to stare at Ajay, eyes very wide. “They were shooting at you?”

Ajay blinks at him, looking confused. “Yes...?”

“I told them to stop you!” Pagan says, alarmed. “Not shoot yo– This seems very familiar.”

Snorting, Ajay pats his shoulder and gives him a conciliatory kiss. “It’s alright, we already knew your soldiers had no idea what the difference between stop and shoot is.”

Mollified, Pagan drops his arm around Ajay’s shoulders. “I am sorry though, dear boy. I’d not paid enough attention for years.”

“You didn’t want to hurt Ajay?” Sabal asks, incredulous.

“Obviously,” Pagan drawls, raising an eyebrow.

Sabal doesn’t seem to take that at face value, but he lets the conversation drop and keeps up admirably with the rest of the night. It’s not until they’re walking home that Sabal brings it up again.

“I’d like to speak to Pagan, brother,” he says.

Ajay glances over at him but nods. “No bloodshed please,” he requests, and steps away, walking several feet ahead of them.

By mutual agreement Pagan slows his pace to fall in line with Sabal. He doesn’t speak, letting Sabal have the first words. “Kyrat is flourishing,” he says, which isn’t exactly what Pagan expected. “We are growing.”

“That is good to hear,” Pagan says neutrally.

“Ajay was good to it,” Sabal says sharply. “If not for you, he might have stayed.”

Knowing what Pagan knows about Ajay’s mental state, he doesn’t think that’s quite true. “Perhaps,” he allows, because Ajay’s health is his to speak about if he so chooses. “What would he have done? He did not want to rule.”

Sabal sighs, looking out across the road where Ajay is strolling along, seemingly oblivious to them. “We would have found something,” Sabal says with conviction. “Why are you here, Pagan?”

“That should be obvious,” he snaps. “I am here for Ajay.”

Halting in the middle of the sidewalk, Sabal turns to him. “And when you leave?” he demands.

Oh for gods sake, this is like talking to Dylan all over again. “When I leave,” Pagan growls, stepping in to loom over Sabal. “When I am forced to go, I hope to take him with me. I will not abandon him again.”

There’s satisfaction in Sabal’s green eyes but Pagan isn’t really certain for what. Getting a rise out of him, perhaps, or the knowledge that Pagan isn’t going to abandon Ajay again. “I cannot approve,” Sabal says. “But know this: if you hurt him again, I will hunt you down.”

That’s as good as he’s going to get. He’ll take the approval, however grudging. So he laughs, winks at the other man and says, “Why Sabal, I didn’t know you cared.”

Ajay seems to take that as his cue as he melts out of the darkness ahead of them and resumes his place at Pagan’s side. Exactly where he was always meant to stand.

*

They wake up tangled together, and Pagan grins to himself. After coming home to Ajay’s apartment, Sabal had gone to ‘pray’ before turning his light out. Surprisingly, Ajay led him to the Shrine to Kyra, and joined him before returning to Pagan’s side.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten religious,” Pagan had said to him.

Ajay had only grinned. “I’m not, really. But it seemed like the thing to do.”

He glances back down at Ajay, finding the boy’s eyes on him. “Good morning,” he murmurs, kissing Pagan’s chin.

In response, Pagan tugs him closer, opening his mouth against Ajay’s. In retaliation, Ajay hooks one of his legs around Pagan’s hip and with a sinuous twist, flips them so Pagan is on his back. The blankets fall to the floor around them and he rolls his hips against Ajay’s as he kisses him deeply, crushing their lips together.

Pagan gasps into the kiss and bucks his hips, lurching upwards. “Ajay,” he groans, “you’ll be the death of me.”

He grins, and kisses him back, reaching between them to loosen the ties on his pajama pants. Once freeing Pagan, Ajay rolls his hips over his bared cock, grinning when he shudders and twitches. “We’ll have to be quiet,” he murmurs mockingly, his grin widening. “Think you can manage that?”

In answer, Pagan tugs at Ajay’s own pants, sliding his hand inside.

Pagan finds him hard and ready, and Ajay’s groan is anything but quiet. “Ah-ah-ah,” he murmurs, “you’re the one who said we had to be quiet.”

Ajay helps him pull off the rest of their clothing, leaving his pants tangled around one ankle in his haste. Reaching over into the night stand, Ajay presses a small packet of lube into Pagan’s fingers. “I’ll try,” he says dryly.

A little stunned, Pagan closes his hand around the lubricate, blinking stupidly up at Ajay. “Are you certain, dear boy?” he asks, even as his cock jerks.

Ajay leans down to kiss him again instead of answering right away. “I’m sure,” he says, and widens his legs for better balance. He’s not going to get a better answer than that, certainly. Ripping open the packet, Pagan slides his fingers down over Ajay’s spine before touching him at his most vulnerable.

Ajay’s skin is burning hot, and Pagan swallows his groan with another kiss as he sinks a finger inside him. “You don’t have to be careful,” Ajay pants against the skin of Pagan’s cheek. “I’ve been practicing in the shower.”

That’s a mental image that Pagan is going to have to revisit very soon. “I don’t want to rush this, dear boy,” Pagan murmurs, pressing a kiss to Ajay’s temple.

Rocking his hips down against Pagan’s cock, Ajay hisses, “oh please, rush this.”

But Pagan takes his time, sliding his finger in and out of Ajay until the boy relaxes, then adding two and repeating the process until Ajay is begging in quiet little whimpers for Pagan to ‘ _hurry the fuck up_ ’ and writhing against him in the most maddeningly distracting way.

He takes his fingers away and Ajay’s groan is agonized, but he quickly straddles Pagan again. His fingers are shaking where they rest on Pagan’s chest, and in a smooth move, Ajay slides himself down on Pagan’s cock.

Pagan kisses Ajay to swallow another soft cry out, arching his back as best as he’s able. There’s a faint knock on the door that Pagan can barely hear over the pounding of blood in his ears. He only knows that Ajay suddenly freezes, his body tensing in very pleasant ways. “Yeah?” he calls hoarsely and Pagan pauses.

“Brother, your friend Hannah is at the door. She says she’s here to give you a ride to work?” Sabal says through the door, pitching his voice to be heard.

“Fuck,” Ajay swears. “What time is it?”

There’s a short pause, before Sabal says, “nearly half eleven.”

Ajay jerks against Pagan, which causes him to push up into him but Ajay manages to only sound a little strangled when he answers, “I’ll be out in a little while. Tell her the kitchen is hers, and I’ll be out after my shower.”

He squeaks a little on shower, but Sabal just says, “I will let her know, brother.”

Ajay holds his frozen position for another few beats before he grins ruefully down at Pagan. “This will have to be faster than either of us wanted.”

Pagan grins back before he rolls them over, pinning Ajay to the bed. He holds himself above him, leaning on his elbows so as to kiss Ajay some more. In answer, Ajay arches his back, spreading his thighs to give Pagan more room.

Slowly, so very slowly Pagan begins to thrust into him, rubbing his cock inside Ajay so that all his nerve endings lit up and he lurches with a cry.

It’s easy to forget about Hannah and Sabal, with the slow and torturous pace Pagan is setting. “Pagan please,” he begs, wrapping his legs around his waist.

That’s all the permission Pagan needs. He crushes his mouth to Ajay’s, and fucks into him hard, swallowing his cry. They kiss messily, all teeth and tongues as Pagan thrusts into him with increasing roughness.

As the pressure builds within him, Ajay scrabbles at Pagan’s back, scoring red lines down his back in his pleasure. Pagan gasps, lifting up on one arm to wrap a free hand around Ajay’s cock. Ajay jerks hard, once, twice and he _bites_ Pagan’s shoulder as he comes.

A half dozen short thrusts later, Pagan follows him over the edge. Pagan groans and buries his face into Ajay’s hair. “Must you go to work, dear boy?”

He chuckles, holding Pagan close. “Emily would be really mad at me,” he says lightly.

“Ugh, I suppose if you must.” Pagan rolls away, flopping dramatically onto the side of the bed. “I’ll just wait here, all alone.”

Dropping a short kiss on Pagan’s lips, Ajay gets up and wanders towards the bathroom. “You’ll live,” he says. “It will only be for a few hours.”

He spends the time Ajay is in the shower to think about the upcoming weeks. He only has a short time on his vacation visa, and he knows that eventually he’ll need to return to his own job in London. Sabal will go back to Kyrat, none the wiser about Pagan’s meddling and things will go back to normal.

It’s taken Pagan twenty long years to realize that his normal is something he never wants again.

As Ajay comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered with his hair still dripping, Pagan says, “come with me.”

It’s not romantic. There’s no candlelight or wine or even a ring. Pagan is naked and sex mussed while Ajay is damp and rushed. “Where?” Ajay questions, a light laugh marking the end of his question.

“Back to London,” Pagan clarifies. “I don’t have to go yet - but I will have to go eventually. Come with me. Whatever you need, I’ll get for you: medication, work, a therapist. Just... come with me.”

Ajay blinks at him, his hands slowly lowering from where they were messing with his hair. “Are you sure?” he asks, in the same tone Pagan had used when he’d asked Ajay the same question.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, dear boy,” Pagan says. “I’ve lost you once. I won’t lose you again.”

There’s another pause before Ajay smiles, sweetly, brilliantly.

“Well,” he says cheerfully. “I _have_ always wanted to go to London.”

"Wh- Really?" He'd expected to need to make a case for it, to convince the boy to uproot his entire life again. He wasn't expecting simple.

Ajay only grins over at Pagan. "Sounds good," he says. "Bring it on."

  
*End


End file.
